On Broken Wings
by mapal
Summary: Destiel AU - based off the book Skellig. A young Dean finds a mysterious man in the garden shed, the man of his dreams. Little does Dean know that the man will have a huge impact on his life.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Here comes my next long fic! I have several in the pipeline but this one has been bugging me for a while so I'm determined to finally get it finished. I have a few chapters written but I'm spacing out the uploads so I have time to work on it. It's going to be very long, I warn you. I'm hoping for weekly updates :)**_**  
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**Thank you all for your amazing comments on my other fics! I hope you enjoy this one ^^  
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_**On Broken Wings**_

_**Chapter One**_

"_Angels are watching over you," his mother whispered to him. He liked to believe they were. He liked to think that the man in his dreams was an angel in disguise. He was really nothing like an angel, with his coat that was too big for him and the frown set across his face. Yet Dean always wanted to go to him, to cross the street and say hello. Dean felt compelled to meet him. The man never stayed around long, gone when a bus passed or someone bumped into Dean or Dean let his eyes drift away just for a moment. Dean had never seen the man before in his life, but he was not scared. The man meant him no harm. "Sleep tight." He felt a soft kiss against his head but he was already drifting off into sleep. He was soon chasing a flash of tan coat in a forest somewhere, the usual game of hide and seek he played with the man. Sometimes he would even catch the glimpse of a smile, the flash of mischievous blue, over the man's shoulder. Sometimes the man completely disappeared, but Dean still knew he was there._

_He was always there._

* * *

Dean watched the birds sailing through the clear blue sky, riding on the heat of the summer afternoon. From his place on the ground, the grass tickling his arms and the back of his neck, he could watch them soar freely above him. He wondered briefly if birds knew how free they were, and what such freedom felt like. What did it feel like to have no boundaries? The crickets chirped merrily around him and the breeze rustled in the nearby trees, but Dean kept his eyes on the birds overhead. He heard approaching footsteps, light and hurried and a bit erratic, and knew that Sammy was running over to him.

He turned his head to catch his six year old brother sprinting as best he could with rapidly growing limbs and floppy hair. "Dad says it's time to go," Sammy panted, and he was sweaty and dirty from helping their dad pack up the house. Dean nodded and slowly pushed himself up from the ground. He had liked this house, as well. It had a large back yard and nice neighbours, it was set in a quiet neighbourhood with pleasant kids and Dean wished they could have stayed longer. He knew it was hard, however. Ever since their mother died, their father had never really settled. He moved from place to place, never finding the comfort he had once been so familiar with. Of course that meant Dean and Sam had to go with him, trailed across every state, a different school every year.

Friends were hard to come by and it was rare that the neighbours were actually nice, and so Dean would miss this town, miss his friends, the neighbour's dog and the sweet old lady across the road. Yet their dad was unemployed once more, and so that meant they had to move on again. Sam tottered along at his side, hair flopping into his eyes as usual. Dean reached out absent-mindedly to brush the hair away, throwing in a small ruffle on the top of his brother's head for good measure, just in case it looked like he was being soft. "Did you say bye to everyone?" he asked quietly as they made their way up the back steps into the house. Sam nodded but seemed sad. He never seemed to make friends easily, but he seemed to get along well with the kids around there.

"They all said they'd miss us," Sam said with a small pout. Dean would miss them too. He had said his goodbyes to his own friends, the few that he had managed to make, and it had been tough, as usual. They traipsed through the empty house with slightly heavy hearts, and Dean would miss the smooth lines of the building, the plush carpet and the brightness of it. Their dad was waiting outside, ready to lock up. They had sent their furniture ahead in removal trucks, and the old Chevrolet Impala was packed tight in the trunk with the clothes they would need on the road and a few other supplies. Sam climbed into the back of the car and Dean slipped into the front passenger seat, watching through the windshield as their dad went into the house to lock the back door and check the windows.

"What do you think the new place will be like?" Sam asked in a hushed voice. Dean looked back to see wide eyes staring at him through a mess of hair, and he forced a smile. He really had no idea.

"I'm sure it'll be great. Big garden again, nice people, just right for us." The truth was, nowhere had been just right for them since the house they had been brought up in, the house that had burned down with their mother inside. Nowhere felt like home.

"Do you think we'll stay there?" _Of course not._

"Sure, I bet this is the right one," Dean said smoothly, and for a ten year old he could lie like a professional. Sam nodded and pursed his lips as their dad returned to the car and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Ready?" He seemed too bright and cheerful for a man who was dragging his kids across the country again. Dean nodded and Sam chirped his agreement from the backseat. The Impala roared into life, the familiar growl and rumble that set Dean at ease and made him sink down in his seat and settle down. The only place that felt like home was the Impala.

* * *

It was a two day drive to Wichita, Kansas. They were almost returning home, to Lawrence, but not quite. Dean guessed it was close enough, as their dad seemed to have a thing about going within a ten mile radius of Lawrence. They would have to stop off halfway, in one of the horrid motel rooms they often stayed in when they moved home. Dean hated them. They had the horrid smell of stale sweat, and other things Dean did not want to think about, lingering in the air and on the sheets. Still, by the time it got to nine thirty, he hardly cared if he ended up sleeping on the floor. Car journeys were tiring, and the hours they had spent in the Impala had clearly taken their toll on Sam. The younger brother was laid out on the backseat, limbs going in all directions and eyes fluttering rapidly beneath his eyelids. Dean watched his brother for the few minutes it took their dad to go get them a room, his eyes following the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair was ruffled and would be sticking up in all directions in the morning, the way his small hands twitched as he dreamed.

It was at times like this, when Dean could watch Sam sleep peacefully without a care in the world, that Dean was glad. They were lucky that Sam was still alive, and Dean remembered clear as day the night he carried his brother from their burning home. Now he was older, he could not imagine a world without Sam. Now he was older, he respected just how important it was that Sam was still alive. He jolted as his dad ripped open the back door and leaned in to slowly peel Sam away from the seat. "Here's the key, Dean, grab the overnight bag and get the door, room 3A," he ordered gruffly, reaching over the back of the seat and shoving the key in Dean's hand. Dean took the order easily, as he always did, and hopped out of the car to run around to the trunk and get their bag.

Sam was lifted out of the car, draped in his dad's arms, as Dean hurried ahead to get the motel door unlocked. The room was as dismal as usual. Faded blue wallpaper peeled in various places, and the dim bulb in the middle of the room flickered now and then. He moved out of the way and dragged the bag between the two beds in the room. It looked like he was sharing with Sam, once again. He kicked off his shoes as his dad lay Sam down on the bed carefully, and then he climbed up next to his brother, pulling the sheets up over both of them. He was too tired to change, or even bother with much else, and his dad seemed to get the message as he pushed off his own boots and took off a few layers before flicking the light out.

Dean heard the other bed creak as his dad settled down for the night. He instinctively curled up towards the heat of his sleeping brother, closing his eyes and throwing an arm under the pillow. He knew he would wake up with Sam curled around him, but he hardly minded. It was just another nice reminder that he still had a brother.

His dreams were quiet as usual. They had been quiet for a long time. He faintly remembered a tan coat and blue eyes, but he had not seen them for months, maybe even years. Sometimes he did dream of them, but it was not the same. It as if he was dreaming of a memory, whereas it had once felt like the man walked in his very dreams. Dean sat in the middle of the forest and hugged his knees to his chest, waiting for the inevitable flames that would soon engulf the trees and then him. There was no escaping the fire. At first the man had helped him, leading him through the trees, a beacon of light and hope, but then one day he had disappeared. Dean had panicked. He was now so used to the idea of the fire, the scorching heat and the choking smoke, that he simply accepted it.

It would never stop him waking up a cold sweat several times a night.

* * *

The new house was a far cry from their old one. The old place had been a new build, with clean lines and a smart garden, like it was something out of a magazine. The building they pulled up in front of was nothing like that. It was huge, but ramshackle. Storm shutters hung from their hinges and the paint peeled from the window frames. The front door was also peeling, at least as far as Dean could tell through the jungle that was growing in the front yard. "Dad, what is this place?" Dean asked, mortified. His dad twisted in his seat to look at him, a grin on his face.

"It's great, isn't it? It was going cheaper than it should have, so I snapped it up," he said brightly before getting out of the car.

"Maybe it was cheaper for a reason," Dean mumbled. Sam shot him a concerned look from the back seat before he clambered out of the car, and Dean took a moment to look around at the street, with the large, impressive houses spread apart from each other, before sliding out into the heat of the summer afternoon.

The house was rotting. Dean could smell the mould and the damp, the stench only worsened by the heat of the day. The house also didn't have air con. The wallpaper was peeling worse than the crappy motel they had stayed at and there weren't even any carpets. Dean and Sam wandered through the house as their dad got onto the phone to the removal men to find out when they would turn up. Dean had to admit the building was impressive. It had two floors, the ground and the first, and then a converted attic right at the top. He guessed it was meant to be converted, at least, because there was a bed up there but the room hardly looked suitable for living in.

Dean coughed at the dust as he slowly climbed back down the ladder from the attic. "I want that one," he wheezed, brushing the dirt from his hair. Sam frowned at him, that adorable little creasing of the brow that made him look a few years older.

"Why?" Dean shrugged, because really he did not know. He just liked the room.

"Just want it," he muttered. "Which one are you taking?" They had more bedrooms than was really necessary. Sam looked around for a moment at the landing they were stood on.

"That one," he said, pointing to the one that faced out to the front of the house. Dean remembered it was large and had a huge window, along with a built in bookcase. Of course he would choose that one.

"Sure. Go see if dad needs any help with anything," Dean ordered lightly. Sam nodded and scurried off, small feet thundering on the creaking wood of the landing. He watched his little brother go before looking at the ladder again. He drew in a deep breath before climbing back up, poking his head up into the shadowy, dusty room. He hauled himself up onto the dirty floor and then stood, rubbing his hands down on his jeans and casting his gaze around. There was a single window overlooking the back yard and low hanging beams, but Dean was sure he could make it into the perfect little hideout given some time. He trailed a hand over one of the beams, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingers, as he moved over towards the window.

The glass was dirty and dusty, just like the rest of the house, and Dean wiped away some of the grime so he could get a better look. The back yard was just as overgrown as the front, Dean could see it beyond the slope of the roof. Trees lined the back fence, their branches overhanging the garden, leaves full and green and healthy. There were various flowers bobbing in the breeze amongst the long grass, and at the back, in the shadow of the trees, Dean could just make out a small, rickety structure. It was overtaken with shrugs and grass, but it appeared to be a shed of some description, built from metal that had rusted until the little structure had holes in it all over where the plants could creep through.

Dean stared at the shed for a long moment, breathing in the dust of the attic room as he stood, thinking. The attic would make a fine hideout just for him, but the shed? That would be the best place for him to hide out with Sam. He heard his dad call out for him and hurried back down the ladder before winding his way through the maze that was their new home to find his dad and Sam stood in the kitchen. It was in a state like the rest of the house, but at least it had an oven. "Dean, I need you two out of the way when they get here with the stuff. They'll be here in an hour, take Sammy out for a walk, get to know the place," their dad said, his voice gruff with tiredness, a rather prominent beard on his face to further highlight his exhaustion.

All Dean could do was nod before he was roped into helping unload what was in the Impala. There was some food and various other things such as pots and pans so they could get by if anything had gone wrong with the removal van. They had also shoved most of their clothing in there, which was not a lot but it still took a few trips to get everything inside.

By the time the Impala was unloaded the sun was starting to sink down in the sky, beginning its descent to the horizon. Dean was sweating and grateful of the glass of lemonade his dad brought out to him. It was warm, having been shoved in the Impala's trunk all day, but it was liquid and it was just what he needed. His dad joined him on the steps of the porch, resting his forearms on his knees and looking around at the overgrown front garden. "What do you think, son?" It was a genuine question, and Dean hardly had the heart to say what he really thought. It was falling apart and rotting, and the bath looked like it had not been cleaned in years. The yard was like a small jungle and Dean was sure something had died beneath the floorboards in the dining room. Yet his dad had tried, Dean knew that much.

"It's great," he lied smoothly, taking a sip of his lemonade and relishing the way it soothed his dry throat.

"Glad you like it. I thought we could stay here a little longer, maybe do the place up." Dean ignored those words. They would never stay longer. All they ever did was move around. However much he disliked the house, however, he certainly hoped they did settle down, if only for a little while.

When the truck rolled up, Dean found Sam reading on the floor of his bedroom. "Come on, short stuff, let's get out of the way," Dean called from the door to his room. His little brother looked up at him before placing the book down on the floor, pages facing down, and moving towards Dean. "It'll get dirty like that." Sam shrugged.

"It got dirty anyway, when I took it to the park that time." Sam had a limited selection of books, some a bit too advanced for his age and others a bit too simple, but he read them all. He also took them everywhere. It was not uncommon for the books to end up in a puddle or up a tree somehow.

"We'll get you some new books soon," Dean offered, and his brother grinned and nodded. Dean enjoyed encouraging him. Sam was the smart one, way more advanced than Dean had ever been at that age. He would have been lucky to get through a picture book.

They headed out onto the street just as the men started unloading the furniture, and Dean hastily dragged Sam out of the way and up the sidewalk. The sun was setting and casting the world into a pallet of rich orange and yellow, gold lining the trees and purple streaking through the sky. The air had cooled, and Dean took in the fresh air as they strolled along side by side. The neighbourhood seemed nice enough. It was quiet, Dean noticed, with no children in the yards and no dogs barking. Somewhere he heard a lawn mower going, and the faint smell of barbeque reached his nose. He wondered if they would get invited to one this year.

They had been walking about ten minutes when Sam finally spoke. "I like this house," he said quietly. Dean looked to him and raised an eyebrow lightly.

"You like it? It's a pile of crap," he scoffed. Sam looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Dad says you can't use that word."

"Dad can fuck off." That only made Sam's jaw drop, and Dean smirked in success. Maybe if his dad did not swear so much, he would not have picked up the habit. Still, he kept his mouth shut around their father, otherwise the belt would be off in a snap. "What do you like about it, anyway?" Sam shrugged and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. His clothes were all too big for him. He had grown so fast in the last few years, their dad had given up buying clothes so often, instead buying him things he would eventually grow into. As a result, Sam possibly only ever had a few months every few years where things fitted him as they should.

"It's old. I like old things," Sam said simply. Dean left it at that. He could hardly see the attraction of the house. "I hope we stay here," he said hopefully after a few minutes of silence.

"Me too, Sammy," Dean muttered.

* * *

Dinner consisted of beans heated up on the death trap that was the stove and served alongside what was presumably toast. Dean ate it for the sake of eating before taking Sam up to bed. The house was littered with furniture and boxes, but Dean knew it would not be long before their dad fished out the alcohol and started to put himself to sleep in his own way. He tucked his sleepy little brother into bed, glad that he had asked for their bedding to be unpacked so they actually had something to sleep under. The house was apparently cold at night.

Sam yawned as he curled up beneath the blankets, small hands grasping at the fabric as he buried his face against the pillow. "Goodnight, Sammy," Dean whispered, smoothing out his brother's hair with one hand. "Angels are watching over you." He retreated to the door and flicked off the light. Leaving the door open a crack to let in a thin stream of light, Dean headed towards the ladder that led up to his room.

The rickety old bed was still up there because the bed they had brought with them needed to be taken apart before it could be fed up through the narrow hatch and then rebuilt. Dean was glad his dad had decided to do it, but for a while he would be sleeping on the dusty old mattress. He had thrown blankets on it to make it more comfortable, but it still creaked and groaned as he moved. The dust caught in his throat and he could smell damp, but he soon settled down under the blankets. He had no idea why he liked it up there. He liked to think of it as his lookout, high above the yard, sitting on top of the rest of the house. It was his space, all his. It was about time he had space.

He closed his eyes and willed sleep to take over him. It came surprisingly fast, and held an even more surprising dream.

A flash of tan and Dean knew he was there. He could feel him. For a few years now he had simply dreamed of a memory, imagining the man who had watched his dreams from the day he was born. Now he knew for sure that the man in the coat was there. "I know you're here," Dean called out into the silence of the forest. A noise reached his ears, hushed and gentle, caressing his whole being like tendrils of warmth and light. It was like singing, but also like water cascading down rocks, the whisper of a breeze through the leaves, a choir singing softly. It faded and swelled around him, filling up the vibrating air and piercing through into his mind. Dean was not scared. It was all so new, so unfamiliar, so **real** but he was not scared. He did not fear it.

He span to look around, light seeping through the leaves above him, creeping in through the thick trunks around him. "Who are you?" The singing suddenly stopped and the light vanished. Dean was alone, and yet he was not alone. This time his heart lurched up into his throat, the blood rushing to his head as he smelt smoke. He gasped out, eyes darting around to spot flames dancing towards him. He closed his eyes tight and sank to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest again. He trembled and shook, a prayer slipping through his lips, hushed and broken with tears.

"Dean," the voice was close, right in front of him, and a deep rasp that felt so powerful. Dean's eyes flew open, and he was staring into the sharp blue that had haunted him since he was a child. Wild dark hair, a long, tan coat and a blue tie to match his eyes. Dean could believe this man was one of the angels his mother used to talk of. This was the first time Dean had looked him in the eye, the first time he had seen more than a fleeting glance. He was face to face with him at last. "You're okay," the man said calmly, a soft smile spreading onto his face.

"Who are you?" Dean whispered, entranced by the calming blue that drenched the flames around them. The man's smile faded and he pressed a hand to Dean's cheek soothingly.

"I am just a figment of your imagination," he muttered. "Wake up, now." He pressed a warm palm to Dean's forehead, and before Dean had chance to bat him away and cling onto the dream, he was sat bolt upright in bed, shirt clinging to the sweat on his body. His breathing came out in sharp bursts and his heart was racing as he looked around at the room wildly. It was just a dream of a memory. That was all it was. It had to be.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Another short-ish one I'm afraid. I promise they'll start picking up the more I get into the story. Thank you to everyone who's shown interest so far**

**Special thanks to my two betas destielengineering and werewolf-with-a-pedigree on Tumblr**

* * *

Dean was exhausted the next day. He had struggled to get back to sleep, and then had tried to find the man again in his dreams. His mind had been horribly empty again, however. For a few glorious minutes he had felt that familiar company in his head. It was like having a whole other person in there. He kept his mouth shut over breakfast. The last time he had mentioned the man in his head he had suffered through months of condescending men asking him about his imaginary friend. The man was not imaginary, but he was certainly a friend. Dean had no idea how he knew, but he just knew.

In fact, Dean kept his mouth shut all day as he helped to unpack the boxes and make the house look half decent. His dad started stripping off the old wallpaper, revealing the cracking plaster beneath. With all the windows and doors open, a soft summer breeze swept through the house, picking up the dust and damp and cleaning it out. Sam unpacked his own room by himself, arranging the few books he had and sorting his clothes into his drawers.

Sam did not have much in the way of belongings, and so he soon finished and Dean found him sat on his bed with a book in hand at lunch time. "Dad wants us to do the front yard," Dean said with a hint of distaste in his voice. He hated gardening, of any form, and the only way his dad had managed to persuade him was by saying he could use a knife to chop at the tougher weeds. Sam wrinkled his nose, the exact same response Dean had given at the news.

"Why can't he do it?" Sam placed his book down despite his protests and started to wriggle off the bed.

"He's going to get paint or something," Dean said with a shrug, herding his little brother past him and following him down the stairs. "Says he'll be back in an hour or two, wants to check out the town." Dean caught the way Sam glanced at him, shoulders scrunching up beneath his too-big t-shirt. Again, it was the same reaction Dean had shown. They both knew what it meant. Their dad would find the nearest bar to check out and he would not be back until much later.

They stepped out into the sun and Dean eyed up the long grass and weeds that were meant to be their front yard. "Where do we even start?" Dean whined, pulling uselessly at some of the grass beside him.

"Start this end, and work through it," his dad said as he appeared with two plates of sandwiches. He gave a plate to each of them and then pulled the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. "I'll be back later, and I want to see some good progress on this." He motioned to the waving grass and prickly weeds.

Dean slumped down onto the porch steps, sandwich in hand, as he watched their dad move up the path and climb into the car. Sam sat beside him, poking at the sandwich half-heartedly. "It's going to take ages," Dean grumbled before taking a bite from his own meagre meal. Sam sighed and nodded before tucking in too. They ate in silence and then put their plates on the porch before starting on the yard.

The weeds hurt Dean's hands but it was pretty fun once he got into it. Sam dug at the roots with a small trowel, pulling up some of the meaner weeds and tossing them aside. Dean used the knife he had been given to cut down the worst of the grass, and he was soon making progress across the yard. The sun beat down mercilessly but Dean enjoyed the fresh air and the hard work. From a young age, it had always been hard work. He had helped his dad with the car, cooked, cleaned, gardened and everything else his dad could never be bothered to do. The two boys had cleared a considerable chunk in one corner of the front yard when a woman approached, two cups in her hands. She was blonde and had a friendly smile, and Dean liked her immediately as he saw her making her way up the path.

"Hey, boys," she called to them. Dean straightened up from where he had been helping Sam tug up a particularly stubborn young thorn bush. "I'm Ellen, I live across the street. Couldn't help but notice you're mighty busy, thought you could use a drink." Her voice was warm and soft, and Dean found himself trusting her immediately. His dad had always told him to be cautious of people, to be wary of absolutely everyone, but Ellen was only offering them drinks, after all.

"Thanks," Dean said, politely, as he stepped away from the jungle of grass to retrieve his drink. Sam followed, small hands grasping the cold glass as he thanked the lady.

"What are you doing working out in this heat, anyway?" She was shielding her eyes from the sun, looking at the mess of a garden. Dean shrugged lightly as he took a sip of his drink. It was lemonade, and clearly homemade and fresh from the fridge.

"Dad asked us to tidy the yard," he said quietly, taking another sip because really it was just too good, despite it being too cold against his teeth. Ellen nodded slowly.

"Where is your dad?" Dean shrugged and glanced up at her.

"Said he went to get paint. We're fine by ourselves." He added the last part hastily as Ellen's eyebrows shot up. Her face softened a little and she sighed as Dean handed his empty cup back to her.

"Well, alright then. I live right across the street, you two boys come on over if you need anything, alright?" Dean nodded and Sam drained his glass quickly before handing it back. "I'll leave you to get on with it." She smiled and waved before turning her back. Dean put on his best smile and waved back.

"Thank you, Ellen," he called after her before returning to the weeds with Sam.

By five p.m. they had finished the front yard. It was still a little untidy but it was no longer the jungle it had been. Dean's hands were sore and his arms and legs were aching, and Sam was yawning and stumbling as they made their way back inside. "Go to bed," Dean sighed as his little brother tripped up on a rug.

"But I'm not-" he stopped to yawn, "sleepy."

"Sure, Sammy, but you better get to bed." Sam groaned and whined as Dean pushed him towards the stairs and made him go up to bed. Dean made sure he was settled down before flicking off his light and going back downstairs. He could explore a bit more of the house in this quiet time before his dad got back home.

He wandered through the bedrooms, actually impressed by the different varieties of mould growing on the walls. The windows let in a draft and the floorboards creaked. Although Dean had liked their old house, he had to say this one was starting to grow on him, just like the mushrooms growing on the bathroom windowsill. He padded downstairs and through to the kitchen at the back of the house. Everything in there was grimy and awful, from the tattered curtains to the old stove.

Dean smoothed his fingers over the back door handle slowly, his skin coming away dirty and dusty. He turned the old key slowly, listening to the rusty lock click open as it twisted. The door creaked as he pulled it open to reveal the wild garden to the back of the house. It was bathed in the late afternoon light and crickets chirped loudly in the long grass. He let out a long breath and stepped forwards onto the back porch.

He wished he could name some of the plants that were growing and made a note to buy a book and figure them out. There were many, all different colours and heights and shapes and sizes. He touched a few of them as he walked through the long grass towards the shed that sat in the shaded area at the bottom of the garden. The grand cottonwood that overhung the back of the garden whispered in the wind, its leaves rustling gently on its strong branches. Dean looked up into them, the golden sunlight dancing between them, as he wandered further into the garden.

It was still hot and Dean wiped at his brow as he pushed away a fallen branch and finally laid eyes upon the shed. Closer up it was actually a bit sturdier than he thought. It was full of holes, of course, but it appeared to be standing on its own. He trailed his fingers over the rusty metal wall and walked slowly around to the door. Weeds climbed up the side of the shed, clinging to the metal, and held the door shut tight, but Dean slowly cut away at them with the knife he still had in his pocket.

The metal creaked as the binding force of the weeds was released. It was soon slack enough for Dean to tug at the door and pull it open, just wide enough for him to slip through. It was dark inside and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Golden light crept through the rusty holes in the walls, illuminating the disturbed dust and dirt that was floating around from the breeze coming in through the door. Dean peered inside, taking in the various rusty, filthy tools that were hung up and leaning against the walls. The shed was large, large enough that he couldn't see the furthest corner through the tools and the large workbench in the middle.

He coughed at the dust and slowly shuffled further inside, careful of the various sharp objects that were littered around. He picked up a few tools and inspected them as he moved through the shed. It would make a great hide out for him and Sam. They could bring blankets and magazines down there, make a den that they could hide in whenever they needed to.

Dean was just reaching the other end of the workbench when something moved. He span around to look into the darkest corner of the shed, eyes straining to peer into the shadows. It was probably just a rat, but that didn't really make anything better. "Hello?" He had no idea who he was talking to. It was just some wild creature. He turned to leave, intending to get his dad to come out later and investigate further, when he heard the noise again.

It was barely a shuffle, but definitely something bigger than a rat moving around. Dean slowly crept towards the shadows, straining to see what was hidden there. All he could see was a pile of old blankets and sacks, dusty and dirty from sitting around for far too long. He held his breath as he edged closer. He was about to reach out to the blankets when they suddenly moved, shifting over something that was laid beneath them. It was then that he saw them, like jewels in the darkness, staring right at him. Blue eyes. He stifled a cry as he stumbled backwards, clutching to the workbench for support as he locked gazes with what he would have thought was a homeless man if it weren't for the stab of familiarity.

The dust settled and everything fell silent. Dean stared for a long time at those eyes, too stunned to move away and too frightened to move any closer. He knew those eyes and yet he refused to believe it. They were the eyes from his dreams, right there in front of him, but they _couldn't be._ Dean's knuckles were going white as he clung to the workbench, not sure whether to bolt for the door or run over to the man. He could see him more clearly now his eyes had adjusted. His hair was matted, but definitely the dark mess that the man in his dreams had. He was covered in blankets and old sacks but Dean could just make out the tip of a dirty white shirt collar at his neck. His skin was dirty, his eyes sunken and shadows, his lips cracked and dry.

He was the shadow of the man in Dean's dreams and Dean had no idea what to do about it. He slowly released his grip on the workbench and before he knew it his legs were carrying him to the door. He needed to get away. He ran from the shed, cutting his arm on one of the sharp instruments hanging from the wall as he went. He ignored the burning pain as he sprinted for the house, almost tripping over the long weeds as he went. He coughed and choked on the dust still in his lungs but ignored that as well.

Dean ignored everything until he crashed back through the kitchen door and was sat safely on the tiled floor, legs sprawled out in front of him. He was just dreaming. He must have fallen asleep somewhere. This was _impossible_. Dean sat there on the floor for a long time until his heart rate was normal and the light outside was dying. It started to get cold and he eventually pushed himself up from the floor and moved to inspect his arm. It was a pretty deep cut but it would be fine.

He headed to the bathroom and eyed up the tub with the detachable showerhead above it. It was dirty but he could probably make it respectable enough for a quick shower. He scrubbed at it for about half an hour, and then was sure he definitely needed a good wash after that. The pipes rattled and the water was lukewarm, but it felt good to finally be clean. He took extra care to wash the cut on his arm before stepping out from under showerhead and pushing back the mouldy curtain around the tub.

The house was just appalling, Dean decided as he dried himself off and got dressed again. It would take them months, maybe years to get it sorted, and that was just how long they never stayed in one place. Dean climbed up into his attic room and sat on the bed, looking out of the dusty window into the back yard. He could still make out the shed in the dusk and his mind wandered back to the strange man. It had definitely been him, and did not feel like a dream. How was it even possible?

He sat and thought for a long time before he clambered off his bed and headed downstairs to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and twisted the cap off before taking a few refreshing sips. He gazed in the direction of the shed out of the kitchen window and then looked down at the bottle in his hand. Somehow he just knew he had to take another look. He took the water with him and grabbed a torch off the kitchen side as he left through the back door again and made his way towards the shed. He glanced over his shoulder, back to the house, and wondered just how long his father would be that night.

It wasn't rare for his dad to be gone all night in a new town. He liked his drink, liked to scam everyone out of every dollar in their pockets. No doubt he would be back later on, staggering in through the front door, making enough noise to wake up Sam. Dean actually rolled his eyes at the thought, but quickly refocused on the small building in front of him. He took a few deep breaths before tugging the door open a little wider.

The inside of the shed was darker, the shadows reaching out from the corners, pale light of the late dusk creeping in through the rusted holes in the walls. Dean flicked on the torch and cast its light around the shed. The corner where the man had been was shrouded in darkness from the workbench in the middle. He edged around, keeping the torch trained on the area until it lit up the pile of blankets and burlap sacks. He clutched the water bottle tightly and held his breath as he moved closer. "Hello?" he called quietly. His voice made the man stir, and it was certain then that it had not all been a dream.

Sharp blue eyes snapped open and locked onto him, pale in the manmade beam of the torch. Dean swallowed hard and moved even closer. His fingers left the safety of the workbench and he lowered into a crouch near the man, torch still trained on his face. "Do you make a habit of blinding people?" Dean almost leapt out of his skin as the man talked, torch dropping to the floor and casting a diffused glow instead. The man snorted gently and looked at the torch. "Infernal contraption."

"It's just a torch," Dean muttered as he picked the light back up and reached up to place it on the workbench, allowing it to light up that corner of the shed without blinding anyone.

"It's unnatural," the man grumbled, turning his gaze back over to Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes and looked down at the bottle in his hand. He had a lot to ask, but the man's voice was cracked and hoarse. "I brought you some water," he said quietly, lifting the bottle so he could see. Blue eyes narrowed and he nodded gently.

"Of course you did." Dean edged closer and unscrewed the cap. The man reached out and took the bottle with dirty fingers, bringing it up to his dry lips before taking a few long gulps. Dean watched, fascinated. There was no doubt about it; this was the man from his dreams. He was dirty and ragged, with a slight beard on his face, longer hair, a shirt that was barely white, but it was definitely him.

"Who are you?" he asked quietly as he took the bottle back. It was half drained and the man looked more alert now. He rolled his head to gaze at Dean steadily, regarding him with unblinking, icy eyes. He was lacking all the warmth and kindness that he shone with in Dean's dreams. Maybe Dean was mistaken, maybe it was all just a coincidence.

"You know who I am," the man rumbled gently, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was the first sign of friendliness he had shown. "You're intelligent, Dean Winchester." Dean's eyes widened a little and he shuffled backwards until his back hit the workbench.

"How do you know my name?" His breath was hard and tight in his chest, pushing painfully at his ribs. Dean was confused and, if he was honest, slightly scared.

The man rocked forwards slowly, one hand pressing down into the dirt on the floor to support him. His head tilted to one side and his eyes were clear and pale in the glow of the torch. "I know you, Dean. You know me. We're old friends, you and I," he said quietly, his voice gruff and low, a rumble in his chest. Dean fingers dug into the dirt and he swallowed hard. He had been right, he was sure of it.

"You're the man from my dreams," he breathed. The man chuckled and rocked back again so he was rested back in the corner, up against a battered old chest of drawers.

"So you were just playing dumb." Dean shook his head and fiddled with the hem of his shirt and looked down at his dirty fingers.

"I thought… I knew who you were but… why were you in my dreams? I've never met you before," Dean looked up to meet that calm gaze again, and it was so familiar he felt like the world was being tugged out from underneath him.

"Oh but you have, Dean. Many times. Now leave, some of us need to sleep." The man's smile faded and he slowly rolled over to face the wall.

Dean stared into the gloom, just making out the rise of the man's shoulder beneath the blankets, a messy bundle pressed up against his back where he had been laid. It did not look particularly comfortable. He was about to press further for information when the man spoke again. "And take that wretched light with you." Dean sighed and reached up to take the torch from the workbench before standing up. He picked his way out past the tools, careful not to cut himself this time, and pushed the door closed behind him. He would find out more another time.

As he neared the back porch he heard the distinct rumble of the Impala at the front of the house and stopped in his tracks. He looked down at his dirty hands and the marks on his shirt, the dust and dirt on his jeans and shoes, and dread started to settle in. He ran inside, casting the bottle aside in the kitchen as he made for the stairs. He could make it, if he just got to the top of the stairs he could dart into the bathroom and his dad would be none the wiser.

"Dean," his father bellowed as the front door burst open. Dean halted halfway up the stairs and almost tripped, one hand flying out against the steps to stop him from toppling forwards. He could smell the faint scent of alcohol from where he was on the stairs as his dad stood at the bottom and dropped a plastic bag on the floor.

It landed with a thud and Dean guessed it was the paint and paintbrushes they needed. "Why are you so filthy?" Dean looked down at his hands and took in a deep breath before lying smoothly.

"I was gardening, like you asked." He moved down the stairs a bit further. As soon as he was within arm's reach his dad grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, making him stumble down the last few steps.

"You cut yourself," he grumbled, and Dean could smell the whiskey on his breath. He swallowed and nodded.

"Some of the weeds were a bit tougher than I thought." His dad snorted and pushed his wrist away forcefully. He kicked the paint tin idly to one side and Dean heard the brushes rattle against the metal.

"Get yourself cleaned up and get to bed," his dad growled. Dean nodded hastily and went to dart back upstairs. He took a deep breath as the bathroom door shut behind him and closed his eyes for a moment as he stood with his back to the door. It could have been a lot worse, but his heart was still racing.

Dean washed his hands and checked the cut again before making his way up the ladder to his room and to bed. He was hungry but his muscles ached and his eyes were heavy. The stars and moon shone down through the dusty window as he collapsed down onto his bed and gazed out towards the sky. It was peaceful and quiet but suddenly sleep seemed so far away. His mind drifted to the man in the shed, the man in his dreams, and every time he closed his eyes he was met with piercing blue. "He can't be real," he muttered to himself as he buried his head in his pillow and let out a long breath.

Within an hour he was chasing a tan coat through the trees of a dense forest. Something was different. The chase was not teasing or playful. The man evaded him at every chance, and the forest was dark and intimidating. Dean's breath was tight and painful in his chest, his heart racing fast and hard. He ignored the flames as they drew in and carried on chasing. He chased the tails of the coat for hours until he could not run any longer, until he fell to the ground and let the smoke and heat engulf him.

He was dimly aware of the warmth and light in his dream that stirred him, the gentle hands on his shoulders pulling him out of the nightmare and into a deeper sleep. He could just make out the familiar scent of earth and air and rain before he slipped into darkness and did not dream for the rest of the night.


	3. Chapter Three

**Ewww it's short and a bit late, and I'm adding a few warning's for you guys with squicks because there may be a mention of some of Dean's relationships earlier on because that's JUST HOW THE STORY GOES OKAY? Because this is not gonna be a PERFECT love story. They will only be canon, or mostly canon, relationships, anyway, so nothing you haven't already seen.**

**Afgskgjhlghj this chapter didn't want to come out.**

**It hasn't been beta read yet but I think I'm relatively happy with it.**

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

Dean spent the morning painting the lounge pale blue. The walls were technically beyond saving beneath the old wallpaper, so his dad had peeled the worst off and left the rest to simply be painted over in the hope that it would hold the crumbling plaster in place. Sam took the lower half of the walls as Dean got up on the stepladder and tackled the upper half. It was fun work compared to the garden and, by the time they finished, Sam was a lovely shade of blue.

"Looking good, boys," their dad called as he returned from the kitchen and the oven he had been fixing up. He had picked it up earlier from a second hand place in town and, even though it did not work very well, it was safer than the death trap that had been left in the house. Dean climbed down from the step ladder and admired their work. The lounge was bare, the carpets up to reveal the old floor boards beneath and a pile of boxes in the middle ready for unpacking. There was still a lot to unpack all around the house. They had only taken out the essentials so far. Their old sofa stood beneath a dust sheet in the middle of the room, ready to be uncovered and placed.

"Why don't you two take a break before dinner?" Their dad wiped his hands clean on his jeans and the boys sighed in relief as they put their brushes down. Painting may have been more fun that gardening but it was still tiring. They took their leave and headed out onto the front porch to relax. The afternoon was hot and slightly humid, the heat hitting them hard as they stepped through the front door.

It was quiet in the neighbourhood other than a distant mower and crickets chirping merrily. Dean sank down onto the steps and then flopped back so he could see the sky. Sam followed suit, shuffling around for a moment before he was comfortable. They remained in comfortable silence as a warm breeze blew over them, refreshing them after the dizzying fumes of the paint inside the house. Dean watched a bird circle overhead, wings stretched out to catch the warm air rising up from the ground.

He watched the way the bird glided, flapping its powerful wings every now and then. Feathers fluttered and flexed against the air. Yet again Dean wondered what it must be like to fly, to be free. He sighed gently and closed his eyes, enjoying the peace and quiet. "You're new here," came the voice of a girl from nearby. Dean's eyes snapped open and he sat up sharply to see the red-headed girl stood on their path.

She was thin and tall, a little older than Dean with fiery hair and blue eyes. Dean shifted uncomfortably as she tilted her head and watched them. "Yeah, what of it?" he said sharply. Sam sat up beside him, hair a little ruffled. He was still covered in blue paint. The girl grinned and then pursed her lips.

"I thought I'd say hello, that's all," she said simply, rocking on the balls of her feet. Dean narrowed his eyes and then looked to Sam. His brother was watching carefully, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Yeah, well, hello," Dean muttered, turning his gaze back to the girl. She smiled and clasped her hands in front of her. She was wearing a blue dress that had possibly seen better days. It bore many grass stains and dirty marks, not to mention the tears in the fabric around her knees. Her hair was messy too, now Dean looked closer, and she had dirty marks on her knees.

"My name's Anna," she said easily.

"Dean," he replied. "And this is Sam." His brother offered a warm smile and a wave.

"Hi! How are you liking it around here?" Dean rolled his eyes and stood up from the porch, allowing Sam to talk to Anna. He padded back into the house and through to the kitchen.

His father was back with the oven, trying to get it clean enough to use. "What are you up to, son?" he called gruffly from where his head was stuck inside the main body of the oven. Dean froze with his hand on the fridge door and swallowed quickly.

"Uh… thought I'd go relax in the back yard. There's a nice tree, and a cool shed," he said easily, pulling the door to the fridge open and fishing out a bottle of water. His dad pulled himself out from the oven and wiped his hands on a rag as he looked at Dean.

"What, that death trap? Stay out of there, will you?" Dean felt his heart sink at the commanding, finalised tone in his dad's voice. He bowed his head and nodded slowly.

"Yeah… but… can't I make it safe? I mean it's a pretty cool place," he trailed off and sighed, and his dad shook his head before returning to his work.

"I'll see what I can do some time, but until then, stay away from it." Dean bit his lip and nodded, even though he could not be seen, before heading to the back door.

The buzzing and chirping of bugs was loud in the back yard amongst the long grass. Dean trailed his fingers amongst the dancing stems that reached up past his waist, some almost to his shoulder, as he picked his way towards the shed. If he ever listened to his father, life would be no fun. There was a flutter of wings and a shrill cry overhead as a bird flew from the cottonwood that danced in the breeze. He watched the dark shape of the bird fly overhead before lowering his eyes to the battered shed.

He checked back towards the house briefly as he reached the ramshackle building, making sure the coast was clear before he tugged the rusty door open and slipped inside. It was dusty and dark, just as it had been before, but the holes in the metal walls provided enough light for him to see clearly. It was also too hot in there, and he coughed harshly at the heaviness of the air and the dust that entered his lungs.

Dean eased his way around the workbench to find the man awake and watching him. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he rasped out, not even bothering to push himself up to be sitting, laid out amongst his blankets against the wall. Dean shrugged and unscrewed the top of the water bottle. He took a few quick gulps for his own first, relishing the ice cold water, before offering it out to the man.

"I thought you could use a friend," he said quietly as the man took the bottle and drank from it eagerly. He sank down to the floor and crossed his legs, watching as the water was drained slowly in long, heavy gulps. "And some water. How long have you been out here?"

The man snorted and removed the bottle from his lips, inspecting the plastic for a moment before looking at Dean. He tilted his head gently, a smile tugging at his lips. "Weeks, months, I don't know. What makes you think I need a friend?" Dean gave a half-hearted shrug and played with a rusty nail that sat at his feet, swirling it around in the dust on the floor with his finger.

"Everyone needs a friend. Must get pretty lonely out here, all this time, by yourself," Dean explained quietly. He knew he would be lonely if he had to sit alone. He wondered how the man had even survived out there, with no food or water. "What's your name?" He met the steely blue gaze and watched as the man slowly turned his head away so he was staring up at the ceiling, up through the hole that revealed the green canopy of leaves overhead.

"Castiel," he said softly, quietly. Dean watched him intently, shuffling a little closer on the ground.

"Castiel?"

"That's what I said," he muttered gruffly. He did not look to Dean, focusing his attentions elsewhere.

"Cas… why are you in a shed?" Castiel looked to Dean again, eyes weary and pale.

"I just am. Why did you call me Cas?" His head tilted again and Dean started to think maybe it was just a thing he did.

Dean shrugged and looked down at the floor again. Castiel was strange. He had no explanation for being in a shed for weeks on end. "Just seemed right," Dean murmured. He heard Castiel snort again and then the blankets shift as he moved.

"Call me what you like, it doesn't matter anymore," he grumbled. Dean looked up to see that he had rolled away again. He took in the shape of Castiel's shoulder again, the pile of blankets at his back, and only now he realised that something was very different. With the light of the sun falling just right, illuminating Castiel's back, it was clear the blankets were hanging off something.

Dean edged closer, reaching out gently to touch the blanket. Castiel suddenly lurched and rolled over towards Dean, grabbing his wrist tightly, almost painfully, a look like thunder on his face. "And what makes you think you can _touch_ me?" he hissed lowly, dangerously. Dean's heart was in his mouth, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He took a few deep breaths, staring wide eyed at Castiel. And those eyes, inches from his face, were so painfully familiar. There was surely no doubt about it anymore.

"There's something wrong with your back," Dean breathed out. Castiel's eyes narrowed slowly.

"Everything is wrong with my back," he growled before shoving Dean's wrist away and laying back down, careful to avoid baring his back to Dean again.

"I've read about it, hunchbacks aren't uncommon, but maybe you should-"

"Boy," Castiel snarled lowly. "No medicine of your kind can solve my problems, now leave." Dean stared at Castiel, and Castiel stared at the roof, for a few silent moments before the boy stood and turned to go. "And take your bottle with you." Dean ducked just quick enough to avoid the plastic bottle that was launched at his head with terrifying accuracy. He glared at Castiel for a moment before leaving the shed and heading back towards the house. He had work to do for his dad.

* * *

Dean watched the sun set from his bed, watched as it sank slowly through the sky and down behind the cottonwood. The house was quiet, Sam already asleep and his dad drinking away his sorrow in the lounge. They had unpacked the lounge that afternoon, happy with the colour of the walls and the state of the room. His dad had insisted they did not need carpets and had made the brothers rub off the worst of the damage on the floorboards with sandpaper.

Dean's hands hurt and his mind was foggy but at least he would probably sleep well that night. He sighed and flopped back on the bed, staring up at the dusty rafters above his head. He could make out the copious amounts of spider webs above him and also shapes that could possibly be old birds' nests. He thought he could feel a draft, and he made a mental note to investigate further the next day and patch up any holes in the roof.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep so he could ignore the stinging of his palms and the aching of his muscles. He yawned and curled up on top of the covers, not even bothering to get undressed. Moving house was always tiring and there was always so much to do, and then there was the man in the shed, Castiel. There was no doubt he was the man Dean had dreamed about since he was a child, and yet that was surely impossible.

It didn't take long for him to slip away into dream, for darkness to take over him and his mind to wander away. His eyes opened in the familiar forest, and he was not alone. The man stood opposite him, and it was clearer than ever that it was Castiel. "You're different in my dreams," Dean said quietly, wanting to move closer but finding that somehow he could not. Castiel smiled gently and nodded.

"I am. This is… what I used to look like," he answered gently, motioning down to the beige coat, the white shirt and the blue tie.

"Before what?" Castiel tilted his head to one side like a curious bird and Dean bit his lip before speaking again. "What changed how you look? What happened?" Castiel moved closer and slowly moved down into a crouch before Dean. He made it seem so effortless and be balanced easily on the balls of his feet.

"Before I fell," he murmured.

"Fell from where?" Castiel chuckled softly at that, but there was no mirth in his tone.

"Very high," he answered simply, hardly answering Dean's question. Dean nodded and took in a deep breath.

Castiel seemed so real, as if he were actually there in Dean's mind, right in front of him. He was not a memory or simply a dream. It was just another thing on Dean's list of things that made absolutely no sense. He reached out slowly until his fingers brushed against Castiel's shoulder. He was solid and so very, incredibly real. "How can you be… here… and there?" Castiel clasped Dean's fingers in his own, and his hand was warm and comforting as he gently removed Dean's hand from his shoulder.

"Some things are better left unexplained, Dean," he explained softly.

"Okay… but why are you here, in my dreams?" Castiel smiled, friendly and gentle, and Dean felt like he was being wrapped up in something warm and soft, like nothing could ever touch him.

"So many questions. Your curiosity will take you far in life," Castiel muttered as he reached out to cup Dean's cheek gently, his smile reaching his eyes.

"But why are you here?"

"Some things should really never be explained," he repeated his earlier statement and huffed a laugh at Dean's scowl. "Now sleep, Dean, and rest." The warm touch against Dean's cheek seemed to spread throughout his whole body and he was slipping into darkness before he could even protest. It was comforting and peaceful, wrapping him up in its warm embrace and easing him into deeper sleep.

* * *

"I wonder what it's like to fly," Anna mused gently from where she was laid out on their front lawn. Dean looked at her sharply and snorted.

"Why would you think such a stupid thing?" He hid the fact that he thought about that daily, that he often dreamed about growing wings and flying away, far away, from his dad and the nomad life they led. He could take Sam with him, carry him far away until they had not a care in the world. Thoughts like those were dangerous thoughts.

"Birds are so free, they can go wherever they want, whenever, and they don't have to think about it," Anna responded, tracing the path of a bird with her hand. Her skin was pale but covered in freckles from her time outside. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt today after her mother scolded her for ruining one of her best dresses.

It had not taken long for Anna to make herself at home on the Winchesters' front garden. Dean had found her outside that morning and his dad had encouraged him to go play for a while before they worked out how to decorate the kitchen. Sam was reading in his bedroom, leaving Dean to socialise alone. It was safe to say that Dean was not enjoying himself. Anna was quiet and yet blunt, and maybe Dean would have liked her if she did not make herself so at home on their front lawn.

"I guess it's pretty cool," Dean said with a shrug, picking at the grass at his feet. He was sat on the bottom porch step, feet on the untidy grass they had cut down two days ago.

"Pretty cool? It must be amazing," she breathed, letting her arm drop down to her side again.

"Sure, whatever you say," he grumbled quietly. Anna suddenly sat up and grinned at him.

"Hey, you wanna go out into the woods? There's a really cool place, you'll love it, come on!" It did not seem like Dean had much of a choice as his hand was seized and he was dragged up forcefully from the porch.

Anna dragged him around the fence that marked their property and then down the side between their property line and the one next door. There was a narrow path between the two fences that Dean had not noticed before, and it was overgrown with grass and various weeds. There was a passage through the grass but it still itched at the skin on Dean's arms and made him paranoid of the bugs.

He glanced up as they came level with the bottom of their garden, scanning his eyes over the grand cottonwood that hung over their fence line. He knew about that tree, but he had not really noticed the others that stood tall and proud behind it. Anna dragged him into the shade of their branches and into the woodland that he had had no idea existed. "I found it a few months ago, it's great, you'll love it," she said under her breath as she stepped through the undergrowth.

Dean picked his feet up to avoid the fallen branches and the various plants reaching out across their path. The woods were cool and quiet, the only noises being the distant chirp of birds and the buzz of bugs around them. Dean took in his surroundings, painfully aware that it looked a lot like the forest from his dreams. It was bright and open, a canopy of shimmering green leaves above their heads. Tall, thick trunks stretched up to the sky, the arms of their branches clawing up towards the sun.

It was a very nice wood, and bigger than Dean would have ever thought it was. He had no idea how he had not noticed all the trees, but then he guessed his attention had been mainly on the man in the shed and his father's demands around the house. Anna led him deeper into the woods for what seemed like miles until she finally changed direction and the trees started to open up. He slowed down and she finally let go of his hand as a small building came into view. It was a single storey brick place with half a roof, but it was sturdy enough. It was small, just enough space to be considered a hunting cabin, and faced out over a pool with shimmering, calm waters.

The pool was not really big enough for Dean to consider it a lake, but it was sizable and stunning. Trees lined its shore all the way around and its waters sparkled in the late morning sun. Anna scurried ahead of Dean towards the little building and pushed open the old wooden door. It creaked on its rusty hinges and she disappeared inside. Dean stood for a bit longer, looking at his surroundings. Someone had clearly lived here once, or at least owned the building.

A small jetty reached out into the waters of the pool, the boards battered and weathered but otherwise intact. A rickety old fence marked what would have been a garden around the cabin, but it was almost non-existent now, completely collapsed in places. Dean moved towards the building slowly, peeing in through the open door to spot Anna sat on a pile of blankets in one corner.

The girl had clearly cleaned up the building, the floor neatly swept and a selection of books and non-perishable food tucked away in one corner, a dry one, beneath a blanket. "Come on, sit down!" She patted the floor beside her and Dean stepped in cautiously before sinking down beside her on the ground. The cabin was sturdy, hardly any holes in the walls and only a chunk of the roof missing, now he inspected it a little closer. "It needs some work, but I'm gonna fix it up," she explained as she pulled a bar of chocolate out from her stash and started to unwrap it.

"Doesn't your mom ever ask where you are?" Dean watched as she peeled away the wrapper and took a bite out of her chocolate.

"She doesn't care as long as I don't bother her," she said with a shrug before taking another bite. Dean nodded slowly, knowing very well how that felt. His dad generally did not care what he did as long as it did not bother him.

Anna explained her plans with the cabin as they sat there in the shade. She was going to rebuild the roof as soon as she could using some of her father's scrap materials, and then she was going to use it as a hiding place. Dean understood the need for somewhere to go. He was going to use the shed at the bottom of the garden as soon as it was acceptable, but Anna had certainly hit a jackpot when it came to secret dens. "You're welcome to come here, whenever you want," she offered as they left the cabin and started to walk back. Dean had to be back for lunch and then had to help with the kitchen.

He had to smile and accept her offer. He never knew when he would need a place to escape to. The pool was peaceful and the cabin was far out of the way, no one would find it out there, and if they did then they would never think twice about it. He memorised the route on the way back to the house, and was pretty sure of the way back by the time they got back. Anna waved goodbye as she skipped off down the street to wherever she lived and Dean went back inside to get on with work.

By the time dusk came, his dad had gone to the bar in town and Dean was left to settle Sam down for the night. "Do you think dad likes the house?" Sam asked sleepily as Dean tugged the sheets up over him. Dean smiled and nodded, tucking his brother in gently.

"Of course. I mean, look how excited he is, right? He loves it here," he soothed quietly as he straightened up. Sam blinked at him blearily and yawned.

"Do you… think that means we'll stay here?"

"I hope so, Sammy. Now get to sleep." Sam nodded and curled up under the sheets. Dean flicked off the bedside lamp and let out a slow breath. "Angels are watching over you," he whispered before he left the room silently.

Dean headed downstairs and went to the fridge, rooting around for a moment before pulling out some ham and cheese. He quickly made a sandwich with some of the bread that was going dry and then darted out of the back door, torch and sandwich in hand. The light of the sun was dying and he flicked on the torch to find his way easier through the long grass. He slipped through the rusty door and let his eyes adjust to the darkness inside.

Castiel was still laid out near the set of drawers, but he acknowledged Dean's existence as he got closer. "Hey, Cas," he breathed as he sat down near the man. "I brought you something." He offered out the sandwich to Castiel and the man eyed it dubiously for a minute before reaching out and taking it.

"What is it?" He inspected the contents of the bread and turned it over in his hands.

"It's food. You never seen a sandwich before?" Dean could not stop the small laugh that escaped him. Castiel rolled his eyes before taking a bite out of the sandwich. He chewed it over for a minute before nodding and taking another bite. "See, it's good. I thought you could use something to eat considering how long you've been out here. How have you even survived?"

Castiel lifted his gaze to Dean slowly and swallowed. He seemed to contemplate his answer for a long time before looking back to his sandwich and speaking. "I survived. I have my ways," he said quietly before taking another bite. The sandwich quickly disappeared and Castiel roughly rubbed his mouth clean before fishing out the half finished bottle of water from the day before. He drained the rest of it before finally looking back to Dean.

"Why are you here?" Castiel asked quietly. Dean shrugged and took the empty bottle from him.

"Like I said, I thought you'd need a friend," he answered simply. Castiel narrowed his gaze for a moment before looking away.

"I don't need friends," he said, his voice distant with a hint of something Dean could not quite place. Dean sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke again. He had to know.

"Were you in my dream last night?" His question was rushed, forced out before he could regret saying it. Castiel rolled his head to look at Dean and regarded him for a long, silent moment.

"What if I was?"

"It's not really right to go wandering in someone else's head."

"You never used to mind," Castiel snapped back quietly, stopping Dean in his tracks. He gave Dean a pointed look and then rolled away again. "Never used to mind when I was useful." His last statement was barely audible, but Dean heard it well enough.

Something caught Dean's attention on Castiel's shoulder, shimmering in the dim light of the torch. He slowly crawled forwards and reached for it, his fingers grasping something soft. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" Castiel growled lowly.

"I uh… yeah…" Dean said quickly, tightening his fingers around the object in his hand before picking up the bottle and torch and leaving the shed quickly. He did not look at what he had picked up until he was safely up in his bedroom, sat on the bed with only the dim lamp for company. He opened his fingers carefully and looked down at the soft, grey feather. It was softer than air, unlike anything he had ever seen before. He smoothed his fingers over it gently, watching the way it reflected the light like metal would.

He slowly placed the feather on the bedside table and laid his head on the pillow so he could see it clearly as he tried to sleep. His dreams were quiet and dark, with no sign of blue eyes or a tan coat. He felt an overwhelming loneliness as he went through his dream state alone, eventually slipping into a deeper sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: Abuse trigger warnings in this chapter.**

**Special thanks to my betas destielengineering and the-baby-ackles on Tumblr.  
**

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

Dean sat on the small jetty with his feel in the tepid water of the lake. It was quiet as the bugs danced out over the shimmering surface, darting and dashing around merrily. It was peaceful, and a far cry from Dean's life back at the house. He had woken that morning only to be put to work straight away. He had helped paint the walls, scrub the new oven clean, sand down the floorboards and paint the skirting boards. There was so much to do it was starting to make his brain swim.

The first chance he had found he had scarpered out into the woods. He had originally planned to visit Castiel, but his father was working in the kitchen to install a new set of counters he had purchased second hand. Dean would have no doubt been spotted entering the shed. And so he found himself sat on the rickety wooden structure with his shoes at his side as his toes wriggled in the water. It was relaxing.

Dean sighed gently and swung his legs, causing gentle ripples to bounce out towards the middle of the lake. It was his new favourite place. He could relax there all day away from his father's stern gaze and sharp commands. At least the house was looking more like a home with each passing day. Furniture was starting to be uncovered and, even though it wasn't the greatest furniture in the world, that made things look a whole lot better.

Dean's bed still lay in pieces in one of the spare rooms, waiting for someone to have the time to take it up into the loft. His dad had reluctantly agreed to let Dean stay up in the attic room. It was nice up there, up above it all. It was like his own personal little castle, a welcome break from everything else that was happening in his life.

Footsteps crunched on dry undergrowth and Dean's head snapped up so he could spot Anna making her way down towards the jetty. "Hey!" she called as she stopped just short of the wooden boards. "I thought I might find you out here." Her grin was honest and her bright blue eyes reflected the rippling waters of the lake. Dean thought that he might really get to like her.

Pushing himself up so he was stood, Dean picked up his shoes and headed back towards Anna. "I like it out here," he answered quietly, dropping his shoes to the floor before slipping his feet into the, bare.

"It really does have that effect, doesn't it?" she sighed, looking up at the grand trees that arched overhead. She was wearing a neat, green dress that bared her clean knees. Tidy white shoes were on her feet, buckled up around her ankles over pretty, little, white socks.

"You going somewhere?" Dean asked as he took in her attire. Her unruly red hair was tied back into a bun, leaving just a few rebellious strands to fall forward onto her freckled face.

"Mom says we need to go to church," Anna sighed. Dean had forgotten it was a Sunday.

"Don't wanna go?" She laughed at that at Dean frowned. Her laugh was as loud and obnoxious as she normally was, and yet it pushed mirth into him without him welcoming it in.

"Of course not. I hate going there. I know all there is to know and I pray every night, don't see why Sunday should be any different." She bent down to pick up a stick from the floor and went about drawing patterns in the dirt at their feet.

Dean pushed his hands into his pockets and looked out across the lake. He would have to return soon to make sure he was not needed for anything. He had left Sam to sit and read in his bedroom and he could only hope that their dad had not bothered him. "I should probably get going before mom wonders where I am," Anna sighed. Dean turned his gaze back to her and nodded.

Wordlessly, they began walking back towards their street beneath the dappled light through the boughs of the trees. Birds sang freely overhead, sometimes flapping their wings amongst the leaves as they took flight. Their song filled the air and Dean found it soothing. There was something about their freedom and cheer that brightened even the darkest days. The birds suddenly reminded him, and he fished in his pocket for the feather. If anyone would know the origin of it then Anna would be the one. She had a vast knowledge of nature, as he had found out when he sat with her in the hut the first time.

"Hey, Anna, what bird is this from?" he said as they halted near the large trunk of a tree and Anna turned to him. He offered out the feather and she took it slowly, a frown marring her face. She twirled it in her fingers and tilted her head a moment before looking at Dean.

"Where did you get this?" she asked quietly before running her delicate fingers up its length.

"I just found it," Dean lied smoothly. He was not willing to share Castiel's existence with anyone for the time being. He had no idea what he was going to do about the homeless man in the shed, but telling people was never a good place to start in Dean's book.

"I've never seen anything like it… but… it's so… soft," Anna whispered, flexing the feather gently before slowly handing it back. "I guess it could be a foreign bird of some sort, maybe a different owl or a hawk. Nothing I've seen before. Let me know if you find more." Dean nodded and they began walking again, but his eyes remained fixed on the feather in his hand.

The feather was troubling him. Many accused Dean of having no creativity or imagination, but he was smart enough and creative enough to come up with a few theories of his own about Castiel. There was something altogether strange about the mysterious man in the shed, and Dean was becoming more and more determined to dig his way to the bottom of the whole mystery.

Dean bid Anna farewell as they reached the street and then skirted around the fence of their house and into the front yard. Sam was sat on the porch waiting for him. "Hey, Sammy, what's up?" His little brother shrugged and then stood awkwardly.

"Dad told me to come find you but… I couldn't…" Sam trailed off and Dean frowned gently.

"Sorry, I was playing with Anna in the woods," Dean said quietly, reaching out cautiously to touch Sam's shoulder. As he predicted, his brother flinched gently.

"He got mad when I came back without you, then he left for the bar," Sam explained, head bowed so he was staring at the ground. Dean felt the anger seething inside of him and took a few deep breaths. Getting angry would not help Sam now, it was too late.

"Come on, Sammy, let's go inside." He guided Sam gently indoors and sat him down on the sofa.

He kept an eye on his brother, sat motionless and blank, as he tidied up a few things and then went into the kitchen to make them something to eat. Dean would like to say that the one thing he did well was look after Sam, and yet there he was failing yet again. He put some soup on the newly fixed stove and then went to sit on the sofa as he waited for it to heat up.

"Was it hard?" Dean asked as he took in Sam's hunched position. His brother shook his head slowly.

"Just a slap… just around my head," he muttered. Dean felt the anxiety subside a bit and felt the bruise on his hip from a few days ago throb in sympathy.

"I'll get you some food and then you can go read," he murmured, straightening up again to go check on the soup. Sam nodded distantly and curled up on the sofa. Dean would stand up to their dad one day, but today was not that day. Dean vowed that as soon as he was tall enough then he would retaliate.

He watched the soup come up to heat and then poured it into bowls and took them through to the living room. Sam took one and Dean sat down with the other, and they ate in silence as a clock ticked away somewhere in one of the unpacked boxes. It was late afternoon, probably nowhere near a meal-time, but soup always made Sam feel better.

As Sam finished his bowl and placed it down on the coffee table, Dean fished around in his pocket again and found the feather. Sam liked anything scientific, anything factual. He loved nature and mysteries and anything he could try to wrap his head around. "What do you think of this?" Dean passed the feather over and Sam took it.

He rolled the feather between his fingers much like Anna did, but then gently rubbed the fibres the wrong way, separating them out before smoothing them back together like a zip. He peered closer and turned it over slowly to watch the light bounce off it. Eventually he hummed quietly and shrugged his shoulders. "It's not a bird feather," he murmured. Dean raised his eyebrows and placed his bowl down.

"Not a bird feather? I didn't think any other animals had feathers," Dean said, thinking he sounded dumber than he felt. Sam shrugged and separated the feather again, repeating the motion of zipping it back together.

"It doesn't act right, and I haven't seen a feather like it. Never seen a feather shine like… like it's…"

"Metal," Dean finished quietly. "It looks like it's made out of metal." Sam looked at him and then shrugged again.

"I was thinking more like satin… but yeah." For all the four years Dean had on Sam, his little brother was more of a genius than Dean could ever hope to be.

Sam's hunched posture was gone with this new item in his hands. He seemed to have forgotten any bruises to his body and dignity and was eyeing up the feather curiously. "Well, you're the genius, Sammy. If I find out what it belongs to I'll find you," Dean said as he watched his brother. "You can keep that if you want." Sam's face lit up and a smile spread onto his lips.

"Really?" Dean nodded and Sam crawled across to throw his chubby little arms around his big brother's neck. Dean felt himself swell with a little pride and a lot of joy as he hugged his brother back.

"Hey, why don't you go put that in a box or whatever and go read, I'm gonna go out in the back yard while dad isn't here," Dean said easily as he prised Sam away.

"Why are you going out there?" Sam asked as he got to his feet and looked at the feather again. He was fascinated, and quite rightly so.

"I like it," Dean answered simply before ushering Sam towards the stairs.

As soon as Dean heard Sam's bedroom door close, he was darting through the living room and kitchen, grabbing more water on his way, before slipping out into the back yard. He moved swiftly though the yard and found himself at the rusted old shed again. He took a quick breath to steady himself before entering.

Castiel still hadn't moved. He was asleep when Dean moved into the ramshackle building, but his eyes snapped open as Dean's shoes scuffed on the floor. "I was wondering when you'd visit," Castiel grumbled lowly. Dean shrugged and held out the water, and, as he did, the empty bottle from the previous day caught his eye where it lay on the floor beside the man. He froze, and did not let go when Castiel's fingers gripped the cool plastic. "I think you're meant to let go," Castiel growled.

Dean pulled the bottle away and lifted his eyes to the man's. Castiel raised an eyebrow, hand still outstretched but fingers grasping at air. "You threw the bottle at me," Dean breathed quietly.

"And?" Castiel had a frustrated look on his face but Dean ignored it as the thoughts raced through his head.

"And then you had it again yesterday. You threw it after me, but it wasn't empty, and then you had it again and you emptied it." Castiel leaned forwards and snatched the water from Dean, unscrewing it easily before drinking half of it in one go. "How did you get the bottle back? Can you move?" Castiel snorted as he lowered the bottle from his lips and screwed the lid back on.

"Some things are better left unknown," he muttered as he stowed the water away at his side.

Dean worried on his lip and stood awkwardly at the side of the bench. Castiel rolled over to show his back to Dean, and this time he took attention. The blankets were definitely hanging from something, and now that he looked closely it was certainly not the rounded hump of a hunchback. Dean's eyes dropped to the floor and searched around, only to see more feathers scattered in the dirt. He had not noticed before because he had not looked, but now he saw them clear as day.

Cautiously, Dean moved closer. He kept his movements slow and quiet, one hand gradually reaching out towards Castiel. He could see the feathers on the blankets now, caught beneath the man where he had been laying. Dean's fingers almost made contact when Castiel was rolling back over and gripping his arm tightly again, a look of fury on his face. "What is _wrong_ with you, boy?" Castiel snarled.

Dean was not cowed by that. He had been in the face of ferociousness and violence too often in his life to wince at an outburst he had been expecting. Instead, he pushed back, shaking off Castiel's grip and almost throwing himself on top of the man in an attempt to reach back and remove the blankets. Castiel snarled and growled like a rabid animal as he tried to fight Dean off, but the boy was too fast for him.

Dean wrapped his fingers around the dirty material and pulled hard until it came loose and he staggered backwards with it in his hands. He was certainly not prepared for the two extra limbs that sprang out and flared up towards the ceiling. Feathers clung uselessly to them, dangling like Autumn leaves clinging to branches with their last bit of energy. Dean heard the crack of muscle and bone, the creak of old, disused joints, but ignored it all as he stared at the utter look of rage in Castiel's eyes.

"I told you to leave them," he hissed lowly. Dean dropped the blanket and Castiel made an abortive attempt to grab it and drag it back towards him, but Dean was in the way.

"Why do you have wings?" Dean refused to move, even at the iron-tight grip that Castiel had put on his leg. He ignored it, used to worse, and stared down into the steely gaze of the man.

"What does it matter?" Dean could smell his foul rotting breath, could see the taint of rot on his flesh, hear the rattle of his breath in his chest, but none of it was stabbing at his heart like the sight of the wings.

They could hardly be called wings any more. Dean imagined they had once been large and full, but now they were just skin and bone and a few, limp feathers. Dean slowly reached out a hand towards one of the wings but Castiel shied away violently, folding his wings down sharply to his back with a creak and a snap. "Where have all your feathers gone?" Dean's voice was quiet and faint, and his tone seemed to make Castiel hesitate.

The man moved so he was sat with his back to the side of the shed, pressing up against it so Dean could not get to his wings. He regarded Dean with calm eyes, yet Dean could still see the unbridled fury bubbling beneath. "It doesn't matter," Castiel muttered. Dean let his shoulders slump and slowly sank to his knees in front of Castiel.

"What are you?" Castiel made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat at Dean's persistence, and leaned forward again until their faces were inches apart. Dean did not flinch. He refused to be intimidated.

"It doesn't matter," Castiel repeated lowly. "I'm not that any more. I would appreciate it if you stopped asking." Dean met Castiel's steady, unblinking gaze with his own for many minutes as the silence stretched out between them, and then his attention turned back to the wings. He could see all the bones beneath the skin, sticking out where there was little muscle to cover them anymore.

Dean reached out slowly, tentatively, and finally his fingers made contact with the dry, rough skin. Castiel groaned and his wings shuddered visibly at the touch. "Do you have to?" The man grumbled. "They're not exactly pleasant." Dean huffed at that and slowly smoothed his palm up over the wing, where a grand arch of feathers and muscle should have been. He trailed his fingers over the bony joint at the top, feeling the soft brush of loose feathers against his skin.

"What happened? At least tell me that," Dean said quietly as he finally withdrew. The wing that had actually unfurled at the touch slowly drew back against Castiel's back. Dean watched as Castiel stared down at his dirty hands, turning them over in his lap as if he were seeing the state of them for the first time.

He heard the ragged sigh that escaped the man; saw the slouch in his shoulders. Somehow, Dean just knew that Castiel had closed his eyes. At first, Dean thought he was not going to get an answer, and then Castiel began to speak. His voice was a low rumble, raw with too much emotion and too little water. "I fell," he said simply at first, and that much Dean knew. He took a deep breath before he continued. "From a great height, from grace itself. I fell to Earth like a comet, through burning heat and pain. The humans I had once looked down upon were suddenly at my level, and I staggered. I fell further, into the dirt and the grime, and I ended up here." He cast his gaze around the shabby hut at the bottom of Dean's garden, and his expression was truly dismal.

Dean watched as Castiel flexed his wings, and thought that maybe it was more of an impulse, just something he did. The gentle creak of disused limbs filled the air and Castiel let out a long, hollow sigh. "None of it matters anymore." Dean sat back on his heels and glanced briefly towards the house before locking his attention onto the man in front of him.

"So… are you an alien or something?" Dean asked in hushed tones. Castiel looked up at that, a look of incredulity and disbelief on his face.

"I have been around for longer than you… humans…" he grumbled, gesturing idly to Dean. "You are the aliens." His tone was indignant and yet Dean was too in shock to take offense. He was staring at a new creature, in his shed, of all places, that the world had never seen before.

He was suddenly staring straight into Castiel's eyes, and at last he felt the press of power that pushed him down into submission. "You'd do well not to mention me to anyone else," Castiel warned lowly. He lifted a hand to lift Dean's chin with his fingers gently, keeping their gazes locked together. "I might be cast down into the muck, but I'm not going to stand to be prodded and tormented by you… monkeys."

Dean's chin was released and Dean nodded hastily. "I won't tell anyone about you, honest," he said quickly. There were only a few people he really wanted to tell, but after that warning he certainly was not sure about that. He had planned to tell Sam, to get his opinion, but angering Castiel did not seem like a good way to go. As if he were reading Dean's thoughts, Castiel gave a distrusting grunt and rocked back where he was sat.

"Don't say I didn't give you enough warning," he muttered.

Dean slowly pushed himself up from the floor and then picked up the blanket. Castiel let him wrap it back over his wings and shoulders, hiding them from sight again, before he rolled back into his usual position. Dean left him to it, then, and headed back towards the house slowly, numbly. He had no idea what to do with this new information, and he certainly needed time to process.

He climbed the ladder to his room and lay on his back on the bed, looking up at the dusty old rafters. He vaguely wondered if Castiel would show up in his dreams that night. He had his doubts. The more curious Dean had become, the more he had agitated Castiel, the less he had shown up. He seemed to appear to check on Dean more than anything, but his dreams the previous night had been empty, cold and lonely.

Dean jolted as he heard the scurrying sound of feet downstairs and then his brother climbing the ladder up to his room. He looked towards the hatch as Sam's head and torso appeared. "I heard the car," Sam whispered as he clambered up into the room. Dean made space for him on the bed and Sam climbed up beside him, curling up instinctively against Dean's side.

"He won't be mad at you anymore," Dean murmured softly as he heard the front door open and then slam closed. He felt Sam flinch beside him at the loud noise and hushed him gently.

"Dean!" Their dad bellowed from downstairs. Dean sucked in a low breath and slowly climbed down from the bed.

"Coming!" he replied before looking at Sam. "Stay here, okay? He won't come up here." Sam nodded quickly and curled up against the headboard of the bed as Dean moved to the hatch and slowly lowered himself down.

His dad was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Dean met him there and also met his cold, harsh stare. "So where were you?" The tone was demanding and filled Dean with a sense of dread and foreboding. He bowed his head.

"Playing with Anna in the woods," he said quietly. He heard the incredulous scoff from his father but did not look up.

"Playing? With a girl? Why weren't you here helping?" Dean cringed internally, already curling up into himself. He did not like where this was going.

"I didn't think you needed me," he replied. "So I went to the woods to see the trees, and I found Anna there."

"I didn't say you could go wandering off, did I?" And his father's hand was tight on his arm, twisting him to look up into his face. Dean grimaced as he turned, torso at an odd angle to stop his arm popping right out of its socket. The expression on his face, the look of pain, only seemed to fuel the anger that was building. "Leaving your brother to wander around looking for you," his father growled, and then Dean was being thrown down against the stairs.

Dean blocked it out, answered the questions that were hurled at him loudly, but sank away into some distant place far away from it all. He was not sure if he sobbed or something, but suddenly he felt the blunt pain of a hand connecting with his ribs. He coughed and curled up, and ignored the world around him. Sam was safe upstairs. He could not be touched. He was safe.


	5. Chapter Five

_****_**A/N: Apologies for the wait on this one! And it hasn't been beta-read, so sorry again! Been a really bad week and this chapter took me all week to write. Hope you like it! We're starting to get exciting now ;D  
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_**Chapter Five**_

Dean winced as he curled up tighter on the bed. The rafters overhead creaked under the onslaught of a summer storm, and he was sure that the roof was leaking somewhere. He could hear the rain lashing down against the loose slate roof, the wind whistling through any gaps. He smoothed his hand over the angry bruise on his ribs and sniffed back the tears that threatened to spill. Sam stirred in his sleep, snuggled up under Dean's comforter, floppy hair a mess.

It had taken hours for Dean to get his brother to stop crying and just settle down. Eventually, Sam had cried himself to sleep, and he was now silent other than the odd little snuffle. Dean sighed and tucked Sam in a little tighter before he slowly slipped off the bed. He padded over to the gable window and looked down at the shed, sheltered beneath the cottonwood from the torrential storm. There was no way he could get out without his dad noticing.

He growled lightly in frustration and circled the room for a few minutes before settling back down onto the bed. If he could not get out to the shed, then he would make Castiel come to him. He shuffled under the blankets and curled up beside Sam. His ribs throbbed and his head pounded, but he closed his eyes and wished for sleep.

It came swiftly as soon as he settled his mind down. He was soon dreaming, sat on the jetty out by the little lake. The summer sun beat down on him through the overhanging branches of the trees and birds sang merrily overhead. He drew in a deep breath and he was pain free. He smiled and put off the search for Castiel for now. He was peaceful.

He swung his feet in the warm water and tilted his head back to watch the birds duck and dive in the sky. He sat in silence for a long time, but suddenly there was a sound like sheets snapping in the wind beside him, making him jolt out of his thoughts. He snapped his head around to see Castiel stood next to him, hands in the pockets of his tan coat. "What are you doing here?" Dean asked quietly as he looked out across the water.

"You wanted me here," he muttered, voice low and gruff. Dean was starting to think that was actually his voice and it was not just purely thirst and lack of use that made him sound so rough.

"I didn't call for you," he pointed out. The water lapped at his legs and he looked down at the silver fish that swam around his toes.

"No, but you wanted me here." Dean snorted and did not move from his spot. He was enjoying himself, he did not feel ready to face the bipolar-like personality of Castiel.

"I was enjoying this dream," he muttered bitterly. Castiel huffed something like a laugh and then suddenly he was sat beside Dean. His coat and jacket were gone, sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His shoes and socks were also gone, and he had rolled up his pant legs so he could swing his feet in the water too.

Dean started down at where the pale skin of Castiel's legs disappeared into the lake and then shook his head. "You make no sense," he said quietly.

"The world makes no sense," Castiel countered immediately. Dean swirled his feet in circles and sighed, watching the ripples spread out in long, golden arcs across the water.

"You're different in my dreams."

"So you said." Dean fell silent for a long time, the fish dancing around his toes, their satin scales brushing against his skin now and then.

"Why?" he asked after a long time. Even without looking, he knew Castiel was giving him the bird-like tilt of the head.

"You're not in pain now," Castiel said quietly. Dean nodded, lifting his eyes to meet the calm, blue gaze. "But when you wake up, it'll all come back." Just like that, Castiel had answered Dean's question without even addressing it.

"Your wings," Dean said quietly. Castiel rolled his shoulders and soft grey-brown wings materialised at his back. They were grand and gleamed in the golden light of the sun. "That's what they really look like?" Castiel nodded slowly and stretched them out wide. The rays of gold filtered through the flight feathers, making them glow softly. He folded them down slowly, but they were too long to sit against his back while he was sitting, and so rested out along the jetty.

"It's been a long time since they looked like this," he said quietly, smoothing a hand over the feathers to his right gently. "When I walk in your dreams, it's as if it never happened." Dean reached out slowly and ran his hand over the grand arch of Castiel's wing, mind wandering back to the shadow of grandeur he had seen in the shed. These wings were muscular and strong, the feathers softer than satin beneath his fingers.

Castiel was watching him quietly, blue eyes intent on his every action. "Your father hurt you," he said softly after many minutes. Dean nodded and continued to stroke the feathers. It was relaxing and they were warm against his skin. Castiel reached out slowly and pressed his hand to Dean's chest. Dean looked down quickly as he felt warmth spread through his whole body, seeping right through to his bones. There was no sign of what was happening, but he could certainly feel it.

He removed his hand again and smiled slowly. "There, now you will wake with no pain." Dean pressed his own hand to his chest and took in a deep breath.

"How did you do that?" Castiel laughed and his wing shifted against Dean's hand.

"So curious for a ten-year-old," he muttered. "It's a good thing." Dean smiled and reluctantly removed his hand. "You should sleep," Castiel said quietly, lifting his head slowly to Dean's forehead. Dean did not bother to protest. He felt at peace and he knew the peace would only grow when Castiel put him into a deeper sleep.

"Thank you," he murmured quietly as the darkness swept in over the lake and through the trees. His sleep became silent and blissful.

* * *

Dean woke to the sound of laboured breathing as the sun filtered through the gable window. He rolled over to face Sam and see his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. "Sam?" He moved closer, pressing a hand to his brother's forehead. Sam was cold and clammy, a chilled sweat on his skin. He moaned but did not open his eyes. "Sammy?" Dean waited for a response, but nothing came. He shook his brother lightly. "Sammy, wake up." Sam's head rolled to one side and he coughed weakly.

Dean felt the adrenaline pulse through his veins as he slid from the bed and ran to the loft hatch. He hoped that his father was somewhere near sober. He rushed downstairs to find his dad laid on the sofa, empty bottles scattered around on the floor. "Dad!" he cried as he ran over and shook his dad awake. He groaned and shielded his eyes from the light. "Dad, Sammy's sick, he won't wake up." His dad squinted and looked at him, eyes red.

"What do you mean?" he groaned under his breath.

"Dad! Do something! He won't wake up!"

They got Sam to the hospital as fast as possible. Dean managed to get him to the loft hatch and pass him down to his dad, who was too broad in the shoulders to climb up. They settled Sam on the back seat of the Impala and their dad broke nearly every speed limit on the way to the hospital. It all went so fast, Dean's blood pounding in his ears all the way. It all screeched to a halt as Dean was left to sit and wait at the hospital as they tried to diagnose his brother.

He stared blankly at the wall opposite him, not taking in the cracks in the blue paint or the posters about various illnesses stuck up using Blu-tac. His dad was somewhere talking to the doctors, Dean could hear the low rumble of his voice in a room nearby. The seats were uncomfortable and the hospital was unusually cold, but Dean did not notice.

Sam had been fine. He had been a little tired and upset, but otherwise he had been fine. Dean cursed himself for not noticing something sooner. His brother could not breathe on his own, they suspected there was something infecting and irritating his lungs. All Dean knew was that something was to blame. Whether it was the house, or his dad, or even himself, something had caused it. Sam had been fine.

Dean's train of thought was interrupted by someone sitting beside him. He turned his head to see an older woman, with dark skin and friendly eyes. She was slightly out of breath as she arranged her walking stick beside her and gathered herself before looking at Dean with a warm smile. "Well, hello there," she said gently. Dean smiled weakly before looking back down at his feet. The lady was on the larger side and was wearing a hospital gown under a dressing gown.

"Hey," Dean mumbled, swinging his legs idly. He wished his dad would hurry up and find out what was wrong with Sam. He felt more than saw the lady beside him rock a bit closer, her breathing becoming a little louder.

"My name's Missouri," she said lowly, as if it were a secret. Dean peered sideways at her, noticing her out-stretched hand. He reached out and shook it lightly.

"Dean," he replied. Missouri smiled and released his head, leaning in even closer.

"Are you here with your brother?" Dean frowned and looked at her. There was no possible way for her to know that.

"How did you know that?" he asked quietly. She smiled and shrugged, sitting up a little straighter.

"I know a lot of things," she sighed. They sat in silence for a long time until Dean decided to try to make conversation.

"Why are you in here?" He kept his eyes fixed on the wall opposite him, blindly reading a small poster on lung cancer. Missouri hummed lightly and played idly with her walking stick.

"They seem to think I'm running out of time, but my friends disagree," she whispered the last part, offering Dean a knowing smile.

"Your friends?" Dean found himself paying more attention than he had expected. There was something about Missouri that captivated him.

"They're very knowledgeable, and they say my time isn't coming just yet." She nodded and sat up straight in her chair.

Dean was silent for a few moments, thinking things over. He looked at Missouri when he finally spoke again. "Do you think you could ask them about my brother?" Missouri smiled and lifted a warm hand to cup Dean's cheek. She slowly pushed herself up from her chair, using her walking stick as a prop. She steadied herself before starting to walk away.

"Of course I can, Dean," she called back over her shoulder. Dean watched her go, the tail of her dressing gown just fluttering around the corner as his dad reappeared. Dean sat up straighter, ignoring the faint ache of his ribs.

"Is Sammy okay?" Dean's breath was tight in his chest as his dad kneeled down in front of him.

"He's stable, they're still not sure what's wrong. I'm going to take you home, Dean. I'll come back to keep Sam company," he said quietly. Dean nodded slowly, feeling his body go numb and heavy, his mind blank. He slowly stood from the chair as his dad rose to his feet, and they headed away from the hospital together.

* * *

"Sam's really sick," Dean muttered quietly. Castiel tilted his head slowly to one side, blue eyes twinkling in the dying light of the afternoon. Dean heard the gentle creak of his disused wings in the silence.

"I know," he said simply. Dean bit his lip and looked down to where his hands were folded on his lap. Castiel took a bite out of the sandwich Dean had brought him, chewing over it slowly in the silence. Dean watched a spider crawl across the dusty floor in front of him, long legs scurrying quickly as it darted from the workbench towards the outside wall near Castiel.

Dean looked back up as the man sighed heavily. "What?" Dean asked quietly, feeling like he was absolutely devoid of energy. Castiel shrugged and finished off the sandwich easily.

"Cheese sandwiches do get boring," he mused quietly, flexing his wings beneath the blanket as he sank back against the wall. Dean raised an eyebrow gently.

"What would you rather eat?"

"Meat. Burgers. I miss burgers," Castiel murmured as he closed his eyes and settled down amongst his blankets. Dean snorted lightly and shook his head.

"I'll put in an order at McDonalds next time," he grumbled. Castiel tilted his head again in mild confusion, and Dean could not help but think this man really was part bird. "What are you?" Castiel rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't know anymore," he mumbled.

* * *

The hospital was cold that morning. Dean wrapped his arms around his chest as he sat out in the corridor again. The doctors were doing more tests. He had spent some time with Sam earlier, and luckily his brother was awake at last. The doctors suspected some pathogen was to blame. Dean suspected the house. The mould and the dust could only have been ignored for so long. It was taking its toll on Sam, who had never really had the best immune system. Whatever was infecting his brother was leaving him open to many other illnesses, and the doctors were becoming more and more worried about his health.

Dean startled as someone sat beside him. It was Missouri again, her breathing heavy from her walk. "Well, look who it is," she said brightly, ruffling Dean's hair. Dean smiled and ducked out of the way.

"Hey, Missouri," he muttered. The lady offered him an open foil bag.

"Have a raisin." Dean eyed the bag for a minute before dipping his hand in and taking one. He was not a fan of dried fruit but did not want to be rude, and so played with it in his fingers as Missouri carried on. "I talked to my friends," she muttered, leaning over so only Dean could hear her.

"You did?" He tilted his head and looked at her, taking in her kind eyes and warm smile. Missouri made him feel like he had known her for years.

"I did. They said it isn't his time either, but he's gonna need some help," she said with a friendly smile. Dean nodded and Missouri cleared her throat before moving a little closer. "Does the name _Castiel_ mean anything to you?" Dean stilled and stared at her, his blood running cold. Missouri raised her eyes pointedly at his lack of response.

He could never tell anyone about Castiel, and yet someone was actually asking about him. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled for a response, and a grin slowly crept onto Missouri's face. "They said you knew him. He's an old friend of mine," she said so quietly that no one else could possibly hear. Dean frowned and looked down at the raisin in his hand.

"You know him?" Missouri chuckled softly and nodded.

"He probably won't remember me, it's been a long time since I spoke to him, he deals with a lot of people," she said with a sigh. "Say hello to him from me." She smiled and offered him another raisin. Dean took one and smiled back weakly.

"I will."

"Thank you. And tell him to drop in when he's not busy." Dean bit his lip and rolled the two raisins together, not looking up at Missouri.

"He's not really busy. He just sits there," he said quietly. Missouri tutted under her breath and sat back in her seat.

"Yes, they did mention something about that. He'll get there, I'm sure." She pushed herself up again from the seat and started to walk away without another word. Dean stared down at his hands, cupping the two raisins between his fingers.

Castiel was not as much of a secret as he had thought. He was suddenly at a loss about what to do. He decided to talk to Castiel later on to see what he had to say about it all. He wanted to know how Missouri could possibly know about him. He had no idea what or who Castiel was, and it was starting to really play on his mind, on top of everything else he had to worry about. "Dean." Dean looked up as his father's sharp voice cut through his thoughts. "Come on in, spend some time with Sammy before we go home." He motioned for him to go over to him, and Dean stood slowly before walking towards the open door to Sam's room.

His brother was sitting up in bed, but he was pale and his eyes were sunken. Dean moved up beside the bed and offered a weak smile. "Hey, Sammy," Dean muttered. He remembered the raisins in his hand and put them down on the table beside the bed.

"What are those?" Sam asked quietly. Dean laughed and pushed himself up onto the bed beside his brother.

"There's this crazy lady, she kept giving them to me. They're raisins," he explained. Sam managed a weak chuckle before he closed his eyes and pulled the oxygen mask back up over his face. His lungs were struggling, riddled with infection. Dean frowned and looked down at the bed. He just wanted to make everything better, just wanted Sam to feel well again.

"Why was she giving you raisins?" Sam's voice was muffled by the mask, but Dean heard him anyway. He smiled and looked up at his brother, who was attempting his best smile in return.

"Don't ask me." Dean paused for a moment, thinking, before he spoke again. "Hey, Sammy, when you get out of here I want you to meet someone," he said quietly. Sam furrowed his brow as if he were trying to work out who that could possibly be. He already knew Anna, and had made friends with the girl, Jess, up the street. There was no one else Dean could possibly know who Sam did not. "You'll see."

Their dad came up to the side of the bed and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "How are you doing, Sammy?" The younger boy shrugged gently and looked down at his hands where they were folded on the bedspread. The mask was too big for his face and the machines around them whirred and beeped annoyingly. Dean did not envy him trying to sleep in the hospital. "I'm going to take Dean home and get some sleep, okay? The nurse will look after you." Sam nodded slowly and looked at his brother.

"It's okay, Sammy, I'll be back later," Dean promised. Their dad leaned over to give the younger brother a gentle hut and a small ruffle of the hair. Dean hugged him too before sliding down from the bed.

Sam curled up lower under the sheets and watched as the pair left the room. Dean threw one last glance over his shoulder at his brother before allowing his dad to steer him away. As far as Dean knew, his dad had not slept since Sam fell ill. He guessed that meant there would be some alcohol involved in getting to sleep.

Dean walked with his head down all the way to the car and stared out of the window on the drive home. He wanted Sam to get better as fast as possible. Without Sam, it was just him and his dad. Dean would be all alone in the world. He needed Sam to get better. The Impala lulled him into sleep after a while, his body and mind exhausted after a fretful night. He woke when his dad shut the driver's side door with a slam, jolting awake in his seat and staring wide eyed at the house in front of him.

He scrambled out of the car and followed his dad up the porch steps and into the house. It was late morning, and the house was full of light, but still smelled musty and damp. "Open the windows, son," his dad muttered as he headed towards the kitchen. Dean did as he was told, rushing around and opening up any window that was able to be opened without falling apart. Fresh, warm air started to rush through the house, washing out some of the damp and dispersing some of the settled dust.

Maybe one day the house would be fixed, suitable enough to live in. By the time he was finished with the windows, his dad had settled down on the sofa with a few bottles of beer and had flicked to a sports channel on TV. "I'm going out," Dean said as he moved from the kitchen and through the living room. His dad turned his head to look at him.

"Don't be too late," he said with a smile. Dean nodded and headed out of the room and into the hallway. The day was bright and warm outside as he stepped down from the porch and made his way out of the garden and down the side of the property.

Birds sang loudly overhead, a constant chatter of communication filling the air, as Dean wandered down through the trees. The thick trunks stretched up towards the sky, old bark covered in moss and ivy. Dean picked up a large stick that he came across and trailed it along as he walked, drawing patterns in the fallen leaves and undergrowth and sometimes knocking it up against the trunks of the trees.

When the cabin came into view, he could also see the small figure of Anna sat out on the jetty, head bowed and book in hand. Her red hair was like fire in the sunlight and her pale fingers clung to the old leather book eagerly. Dean smiled and made his way out along the jetty to sit beside her. "Hey," he said quietly, prodding the stick into the water below him. There were no fish swimming around like there had been in his dream, and the water was a little less calm and clear. He wondered absently why his dream world was so different. He wondered if maybe it was to do with Castiel.

Anna looked up at him and smiled, book still open in her lap. She was wearing a dress again, red with white polka-dots. Her smart red shoes were sitting on the jetty beside her with her white socks stuffed into them, and her bare feet were dangling in the water. "Hey, what's up?" She looked back down to her book, and Dean noticed it was a book on various animals. He sat cross-legged and swirled the stick around in the water.

"Sam's sick," he said quietly, watching the pattern being made by the stick on the surface of the water. Anna threw another glance at him.

"How sick?"

"Very. The doctors don't know what's wrong," Dean said quietly. The doctors had a vague idea, but not one good enough to help Sam. He spotted the silver scales of a fish dart around the stick before disappearing into the deeper waters, and his mind wandered to his dream two nights ago. He remembered Castiel's wings, remembered the utter peace he had felt.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Anna had closed her book and was paying attention to Dean now. He smiled and shrugged gently.

"I thought we were gonna lose him, but there's this lady at the hospital who says he'll be fine."

"A doctor?" Anna tilted her head, Dean shook his.

"No, someone who's sick. She said she had friends who knew stuff, and they said it wasn't Sam's time." He missed out the part where they had also mentioned Castiel, and Missouri called him an old friend. He was not prepared to share Castiel with Anna.

"Maybe she's right. Some people just know things," Anna said with a shrug. Dean nodded and prodded the stick down until it hit the silt and mud under the water. A plume of dirt rose up from the bottom before dispersing slowly.

"I hope she's right," he muttered.

They sat and talked for a long time until Anna had to leave and go out with her mother. She skipped off into the woods, the white frills of her dress ruffling around until she disappeared into the trees. Dean stared down at the water, a sigh leaving him. He hoped more than anything that Missouri was right about Sam, that her friends knew as much as they said they did. He decided it was about time to talk to Castiel, and pushed himself up from the jetty before heading back towards the house.

Dean did not want to disturb his dad, so he moved around to the back of the house, at the bottom of the yard, where the large cottonwood creaked and rustled overhead in the breeze. The light was starting to die, the sun sinking lower in the sky, but Dean made his way along the fence line until he found a panel that was loose enough for him to push at. He made an opening at the bottom of the fence just big enough for him to squeeze through, and then he was in the back yard by the shed.

There was a scurrying nearby as a rabbit spotted him and then dove head first into the long grass of the yard, the blades dancing and rustling as the small animal scarpered. Dean moved to the shed and pulled the rusty old door open. It was as dusty and dirty as ever inside as he made his way over to Castiel. Of course, the man was still sat in his usual position.

"What, no burger?" Castiel said with something that could have been a laugh in his voice. Dean smiled and sank down onto the floor.

"I've been at the hospital, and then in the woods with Anna. Haven't eaten yet today," he explained quietly. Castiel raised his eyebrows a fraction and pushed himself so he was sat up.

"Anna? A girl? Humans really start that young now?" It may have been humour but his voice was deadly serious and he had a small frown on his face. Dean laughed and shook his head.

"No! She's just a friend. She showed me this cabin out in the woods, near a lake," he sighed, idly drawing his finger across the dirt on the floor, adding to the patterns he had drawn previously.

They sat in silence for a long time until Dean finally spoke again. He had to bring up Missouri, to shed some light on just how she had known about Castiel. "Do you know someone called Missouri?" he asked quietly. Castiel tilted his head once more and frowned even deeper. Dean watched and waited for a response. Eventually, realisation seemed to dawn on Castiel's face, lessening his frown and bringing his head upright again. He smiled a little, at least Dean thought he might have.

"I do, yes. She's very nice. Why, do you?" Dean nodded and looked down at the floor again.

"I met her at the hospital. She's sick. She knew about you, but I didn't tell her!" Dean looked up quickly only to see that Castiel's face was calm and even. He did not seem bothered that Missouri knew about him. "She told me to say hello to you, and that you should go see her when you're not busy." Castiel snorted at that and Dean smiled. "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

Castiel had an expression of amusement on his face. Compared to the anger and bitterness Dean normally saw, it was a pleasant change. Maybe Castiel was starting to feel a little better, maybe he had just been sick. Dean ran a hand over his ribs as they ached faintly once again. They did not hurt nearly as badly as they could have, as they had done in the past. He remembered the dream with Castiel, the way he had taken the pain away, and suddenly a thought was creeping into his brain.

He cleared his throat and looked around the shed quickly before fixing his eyes on a rusty nail that was laid on the floor nearby. "Hey, Cas," he said quietly.

"Cas?" Castiel's voice was indignant.

"Yeah… short for Castiel. Anyway," Dean sighed and closed his eyes, mind wandering to the warm feeling of peace that had washed over him as Castiel had taken away the pain. He had high hopes, higher than he probably should have had, but he just had to ask. "Do you think… do you think you could make Sammy better?"

Castiel stared at him for a long time, unblinking and unnerving. After a while, he spoke lowly. "What makes you think I could do him any good?" Dean stared back for a moment, opening his mouth once and closing it again before finally speaking.

"It's just… you made the pain go away, the bruises…" he trailed off and ran a hand over the ribs that should have been black and blue but instead only showed a few distant signs of trauma, as if it had happened weeks ago. Castiel snorted and shook his head.

"I didn't even do that properly, what makes you think I am heal a sick child?" His voice was sharp and cold, and Dean flinched away from the tone of it.

"I just thought I'd ask," he murmured quietly. Castiel actually rolled his eyes as he adjusted the blankets over his wings.

"I'm good for nothing, boy, and it's about time you understood that. I can't help anyone." Silence fell between them and Dean felt a painful ache starting to build up in his chest. If Sam was really sick, if he couldn't fight whatever was hurting him, and Castiel was of no use, then he did not know what to do anymore. "Just leave me. Leave me here to rot," Castiel growled before laying down and rolling over to put his back to Dean.

Dean stared at the man's back for a long time before sighing and getting up from the floor. He left the shed, and was just pushing the door closed when he heard a shout from the house. He jolted and snapped his head up to see his dad staggering down the porch steps. "Dean! I told you not to go in there," he growled as he neared, a can for fuel in his hand. When Dean did not move, his dad grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him away from the shed. "I said get in the house!"

Dean watched, mortified, as his dad started to pour the fuel around the base of the shed, tossing it up against the rusted metal as well. "Dad! No!"

"It's a death trap, Dean! No get in that fucking house now!" Dean took a few steps back, but did not return to the house as his dad tossed the empty can aside and pulled some matches from his pocket. Horror started to bubble up inside Dean as a lit match dropped to the floor and the flames engulfed the fuel that had been poured around.

Dry grass crackled and burned and metal creaked and warped under the heat. Dean could feel the heat of the flames against his face as he stared at the shed. He had to do something. Before he knew it, he was darting forward. He ignored the flames that were making their way around the shed, throwing his hand out to grab hold of the door. The metal was hot and he knew immediately it was burning his flesh. He cried out in pain but still managed to pull the door open before there were strong arms on his shoulders hauling him back and away from the shed.

"Are you stupid? I said go inside!"

"No! Dad! There's someone inside!"

"Then they're trespassing! Get the fuck inside," his dad growled, starting to pull him away from the shed. Dean struggled against the grasp until his father's patience finally snapped. "Dean!" He pulled Dean up off his feet and threw him easily up the path. All his breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground, head cracking down against the ground. He cried out with a broken sob as his dad loomed above him, fist raised. He had to save Castiel.


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: Oh my good lord this gave me so much trouble. I'm sorry it's so late and I'm sorry for any inconsistencies. I wrote this out of order because I couldn't write the hospital scenes at first. So I hope it's okay. And I'm sorry it's so late. This is literally hot off the press and it's 11:30 and I have to be up in 8 hours so yeah, dear lord... right... unbeta'd of course because I suck but I'll get them to read through it if they're up for it and make any necessary changes xD sorry, again.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Dean was not sure if he cried out with his voice or his mind, but almost the second he screamed for Castiel, there was a tall, dark figure looming up behind his father. Powerful hands grabbed his dad's shoulders, tossing him to the side with ease. His dad fell into the long grass and Dean finally got a good look at the figure. Skeletal wings stretched out to either side, illuminated by flames and the dying sun. Castiel's cold glare was bathed in orange and gold and Dean felt a shiver run down his spine.

The tramp that had been living in his shed was probably the most terrifying thing Dean had ever seen. His dad was starting to get back to his feet. Castiel turned to face him, wings flaring up above his head as the other man started barrelling towards him. Dean watched in mild horror as Castiel clashed with his father. Castiel easily stopped the punch that was aimed for his jaw, gripping the fist easily as he brought his free hand up to press against the other man's forehead. Dean watched as his dad suddenly slumped to the ground, unconscious, and the only noises left were the sound of the crackling fire and Dean's blood pounding in his ears.

Castiel fell to his knees and Dean cautiously crawled over to him. His wings were folded down to his back, and for the first time Dean could see just how thin the man was. His old, beige coat hung from his shoulders, his tattered shirt was unbuttoned enough to show the prominent jut of his collarbone, his eyes were sunken in the orange glow of the nearby fire. "Cas," Dean said quietly resting a hand against one bony shoulder.

Castiel turned his head to look at Dean, his breath coming out in sharp rasps. Castiel's eyes were pained and a little wild, but Dean ignored it all and tried his best smile. "Thank you," he muttered before cautiously putting his arms around Castiel's shoulders in a wary, gentle hug. He stilled for a moment before he slowly returned the hug, curling one arm protectively around Dean. Dean could hear the breath rattling in Castiel's chest, and squeezed him a little tighter in an attempt to maybe make him feel a bit better.

Dean watched the fire engulfing the shed over Castiel's shoulder. The flames were licking up towards the old cottonwood, tickling at the dry leaves. It may have rained a day or so ago, but the foliage was dry and was going up in flame easily. "I need to call 911, then I'll get you out of here," Dean muttered before moving away from Castiel. "Can you move my dad towards the house?" Castiel looked from Dean towards the unconscious form of his father on the floor and nodded slowly.

"I can try," he said quietly before slowly pushing himself up to his feet. Dean scrambled up from the ground and then ran towards the house. His heart was pounding as he found the phone and called for an ambulance and the fire brigade. He left out his name and only gave the location. His dad would be fine when the ambulance got there, he needed to get Castiel to safety before someone spotted him.

Castiel had managed to drag his dad to the back steps and the fire was starting to take over the bottom of the garden when Dean came back through the kitchen and out onto the porch. The hole in the fence he had made was now engulfed by flames and it was nearly impossible to get around the side of the house with all the debris and overgrown shrubs. "Cas, come on," Dean said quickly, grabbing the man by the arm and leading him into the house.

It was a squeeze to get Castiel and his wings through the doorways, but they managed it and they were soon moving as quickly as they could down the side of the house. As they reached the trees, Dean heard the sound of sirens and the flashing lights of the fire engine lit up the darkening street behind them. Castiel was slow moving, his limbs stiff and his breath laboured, but Dean supported him as best he could as they went deeper into the trees.

There was only one place Dean could think to take the man. One place that was safe. He led Castiel through the trees as shouts sounded behind them and the firemen started to tackle the raging blaze at the bottom of the garden. More sirens grew closer, most likely the ambulance. Dean pushed it all to the back of his mind. It was his dad's own fault and the throbbing at the back of his skull reminded him that his dad most likely deserved it.

After a long time of staggering through the trees, the small hunting cabin came into view. Dean heaved a sigh of relief and Castiel put up one last valiant effort to take his weight off the boy and make his own way to the building. They were almost at the door when there was a shrill, panicked voice behind them. "Dean?" Dean froze, grip tightening against Castiel's back where he was gripping the battered coat tightly. It was Anna.

Dean twisted where he stood, feeling Castiel lean heavily against him. He had to get the man inside so he could rest. "Anna," Dean breathed as he caught sight of her. She was in her night dress, a pretty white thing that came just below her knees. She was also barefoot.

"I saw the fire from my window… who's that?" In the dusk she must not have seen Castiel's wings, because 'who' Castiel was would not have been Dean's first question.

"Castiel," he grunted as he adjusted the man's weight on him and led him towards the cabin. Castiel did his best to move, but practically fell on the floor when the door was open. Anna was at Dean's side as Castiel crawled towards a dry corner of the cabin, wings falling limp at his side. It was then that Anna gasped as the last rays of the fading sun filtered through the holes in the cabin walls and illuminated the skeletal wings.

Anna gripped Dean's arm tightly. "He… has wings," she breathed. "Dean, he has wings!" Dean shrugged her off and moved over to Castiel as the man leaned up against the wall in one corner and closed his eyes.

"Cas?" Dean knelt beside him, resting a hand on Castiel's shoulder. Castiel opened his eyes slowly at looked at Dean with an expression of pain and something else that Dean could not quite place.

"Thank you. You should get back to your father," Castiel said lowly. Dean bit his lip and looked over his shoulder at Anna. The girl was stood cautiously by the door to the cabin, blue eyes wide and wary. He turned his attention back to Castiel and took a deep breath before nodding. He doubted his dad would still be at the house, but he should really return just in case.

Dean pushed himself up from the ground and moved over towards Anna. He stopped beside her and she turned her attention from Castiel to Dean, looking every bit confused and scared. "He has wings," she whispered. Dean had to laugh as he nodded.

"Yeah, he does. I'm gonna get back home, can you make sure he's okay?" He glanced over his shoulder at Castiel. The man was still panting and his eyes were closed again. Without all the blankets covering him, he looked even more frail and vulnerable.

"Yeah I'll stay here with him," Anna said quietly before taking a few tentative steps forward. Dean watched as she sat down beside Castiel, reaching out a hand to cautiously touch one of his wings. The extra limb twitched under the touch before settling. Somehow, Dean knew Castiel would be fine with Anna. He turned and left the cabin, heading back towards the rising smoke.

The firemen had put out the worst of the fire and were just hosing down the shed when Dean got back to the house. The ambulance was still at the front, the paramedics trying their best to assess his dad. Dean slowly approached the vehicle, seeing the bed in the back that was holding his dad, various machines hooked up to him in various ways.

"You okay, kid?" one of the paramedics called over. Dean dragged his eyes away from the still form of his dad and nodded slowly.

"Yeah… he's my dad," he said quietly. The throbbing pain in the back of his head reminded him that he probably needed help too, and so he allowed one of the paramedics to lead him to the back of the ambulance.

"Hold still, you're bleeding," the young man said as he reached for a cotton pad and pressed it to the back of Dean's head. He was not aware that he had been that badly injured, and whatever was on the cotton pad stung as it was pressed to the wound.

Dean's mind went blank as the paramedic tended his wounds and filled him in about his dad. Apparently he was fine, just unconscious. They suspected the high amounts of alcohol in his system, Dean knew better. They sat Dean in the back of the ambulance before shutting the doors and setting off for the hospital. Everything was just a blur of light and sound and Dean found himself started to fall asleep where he was sat. "Hey, try to stay awake, you might have concussion," the young paramedic said from somewhere to Dean's left.

Dean wanted to listen to him but his body was heavy and tired. He tried his best to stay awake, but at some point he slipped into a heavy blanket of darkness. It was a silent, dreamless sleep that stretched on forever. He was blissfully unaware of the world, of the sirens on the ambulance or the painful, unnatural light it was filled with. There was just darkness and peace and Dean welcomed it with open arms.

* * *

Bright light pierced Dean's mind as he stirred awake. Everything was blurry, like he was underwater, and his brain swam and made him feel sick. He must have made a noise, because suddenly his dad was standing over him, a small smile on his face. Dean could just make out the cut that was taped up on his dad's forehead, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. Dean blinked a few times until his dad came into focus a bit more. "Hey, Dean," he said quietly, smoothing a hand over Dean's hair.

It was a far cry from the insanity he had been displaying a while ago. Dean had no idea how long he had been asleep, how sober his dad really was. He turned his head towards the window to see the sun just starting to come up. He had been out cold all night. "Someone's here to see you," his dad added softly. Dean turned his head again and noticed the blonde lady sat near the door for the first time. It was Ellen. She smiled warmly at him and he smiled back. He had not seen her for a few days, but she had always spoken to him whenever she had seen him.

"I saw everything that was happening, thought I'd see how you guys were doing," she explained. Dean nodded and then closed his eyes again as his brain swam and made him feel even more nauseous.

"When can I go home?" Dean asked quietly, curling up a little more under the blankets. The machines around him were beeping annoyingly and he thought would maybe never get to sleep again if he stayed there.

"In a few days, maybe," his dad said calmly. Dean groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter. He simply did not want to be in there for a few days.

He listened as his dad and Ellen spoke for a while, pretending he had gone back to sleep. His dad said Sam was still in a bad way and was not fighting the infection very well. The doctors did not understand why he was not responding to medication. Dean made a note to go see his brother as soon as he could sit up without feeling like he was about to empty his stomach.

Eventually, they left to go get a coffee, his dad placing a soft kiss amongst his hair before he left with Ellen. Dean sighed when he heard the door close and finally opened his eyes again. He hated hospitals. This hospital always seemed so cold. He watched the shadows pass by the frosted window from where he was laid in bed, wondering where Sam was in the hospital compared to him and if he was capable of getting there by himself.

Dean was not aware that he had fallen asleep until he woke up in a dark room alone. He peered into the shadows, but the two chairs in the room were empty and the only noise was the steady beeping of the machine beside him. He sat up slowly, head pounding and mouth dry. Spotting the glass of water on his bedside table, he reached out and picked it up. His arms were annoyingly shaky and weak but, using both hands, he managed to get a few sips down.

He was only hooked up to a heart monitor using a clip on his finger, so he quickly pulled it off and slipped out of bed. The machine beeped loudly to pronounce his dead as he made his way out of the door as quickly as possible. He knew he did not have much time, the nurses would soon find him, but he had to see Sam.

He got himself orientated as to what floor he was on and then headed for the stairs. His head throbbed and pounded at the exertion as he climbed up to Sam's floor, breath tight in his chest. The stairs were lit by bright, pale fluorescent lights and they hurt his eyes, but he soon broke out into the corridor on Sam's floor. It was dark, everything running on auto-pilot until the morning. He quickly got his bearings and made his way to Sam's room, ducking out of sight of a passing nurse on the way.

Sam was awake when Dean slipped into his room. He still looked pale and still had the breathing mask on. His eyes widened a little as Dean rushed over to the bed and hopped on. "Hey, Sammy," he panted. Sam pulled the mask down and gave Dean his best frown.

"Why are you here?" he whispered. Dean shrugged and pulled his brother into a hug.

"Just wanted to see you. Did dad tell you what happened?" He drew back and Sam nodded slowly.

"He said you got knocked out or something, but he doesn't remember much of it. He thinks he passed out," Sam explained in hushed tones. "Do you remember what happened?" Dean nodded and glanced towards the door before leaning a bit closer.

"Yeah but I can't really tell you. I'll show you when you get out of here," Dean replied quickly. The door suddenly opened and both the boys jumped in surprise. Dean squinted across the dark room to see a woman stood there, and he quickly recognised it as Missouri. "Missouri, what are you doing in here?" he hissed lowly.

"I could ask you the same thing, boy," she chided as she moved over to the bed. Sam sat up a little and looked at the lady curiously. "Well, this must be Sam," she said cheerily, offering her hand to the younger brother. Dean did not recall ever telling her Sam's name, but he pushed it aside as one of the less weird things that had come out of Missouri's mouth.

"I just came to see my brother," Dean sighed. Missouri smiled and nodded.

"Figured you would. That's why I came. My friends said you were in here, said your daddy hurt you, also said you had some help," she said with a knowing raise of the eyebrows. Dean smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I did. Did you want me for something?" Missouri sighed and slowly sat down on the nearby chair.

"Well, they also said my time is coming, and they ain't wrong often, so I'm gonna take their word on it. I was wondering… if your friend could come see me, just one last time," she said quietly.

"Oh," Dean breathed, watching as Missouri looked down at the floor between her feet. "I'll… I'll ask him, yeah." The lady lifted her eyes and smiled a little brighter at Dean.

"Thank you, Dean."

* * *

Dean walked down the side of the house, a soft breeze against his skin and the sun warm but not over-bearing in the sky. It had been so long since he had last seen Castiel, two days to be precise, and dread was starting to creep up inside him. He had left him in Anna's care. He trusted Anna enough; she seemed like the type to know to keep Castiel a secret.

It was all quiet around the cabin, but Dean could hear Anna's voice inside as he got closer. He slowly pushed the door open to see Anna sat reading beside Castiel. The man was eating what looked like a burger as he listened, eyes lifting to Dean as the door opened. The smile that spread onto his face had Dean halting in the doorway, staring at the ragged man. Anna had brought him some new blankets to keep him warm and he had made something like a nest in one corner.

"Dean!" Anna was scrambling to her feet quickly. "I'm glad you're okay," she sighed as she moved over to him.

"Why's he so happy?" Dean whispered as Castiel tucked back into his food and peered down at the book Anna had left open on the floor.

The girl shrugged and looked over her shoulder, long red hair cascading down over her shoulders. She flicked her gaze back to Dean. "He asked for a burger and I told my mum I had a friend I was having picnics with, so she keeps giving me them now. He really does like them." Dean could only watch as Castiel ran a finger over the lines in the book, polishing off his burger as he read.

"Do burgers really make him that happy?" Anna laughed and nodded before leading Dean out of the cabin and out of ear-shot.

"Where did he come from?" she asked quietly as they made their way to the jetty. The waters were still and the birds were chattering quietly overhead. Dean sighed as he sank down on the old wooden boards and leaned to dabble his fingers in the water. It was cool against his skin and a welcome relief from the heat of the day.

"I don't know, he was just in the shed when we moved in," Dean muttered as Anna sat beside him. She was wearing some scruffy jeans and a t-shirt that day. "Won't say what he is or what happened, just that he fell."

Anna looked over her shoulder at the cabin, a frown on her face. "He fell? From where?" Dean's brows knitted together as he remembered the conversation that seemed like a very long time ago.

"He said… from grace itself, from a great height… he said he fell like a comet," he recalled slowly. Anna chewed at her fingers for a minute before scrambling to her feet.

"Stay here, I'll be back soon," she said quickly before she darted off towards the woods. Dean watched her go before turning his gaze to the cabin. He was curious. Castiel was happy for once, and it was not in the world of dreams.

He made his way back inside to find the man reading the book Anna had left, clutching the leather-bound pages in his grubby fingers. "You need a bath," Dean said quietly as he moved to sit beside Castiel. The man snorted and turned the page.

"Of course you'd say that, I'm fine," he retorted, blue eyes darting over the words. He read fast. Dean reached out to grab one of Castiel's hands to examine his dirty fingers, the man quickly snapped his hand away, scowling at Dean with all the thunder he could muster.

"Your hands are dirty," Dean snapped quietly. Castiel rolled his eyes and then tilted his head at Dean. He slowly closed the book in his lap and reached up until his hand was cupping the back of Dean's head. Dean was ready to pull away and return Castiel's scowl when he felt the warmth spreading from Castiel's palm. The warmth took the remaining nausea and headache away with it, leaving Dean feeling light-headed and airy.

Dean blinked a few times up at Castiel, meeting that piercing gaze. His chest ached as if he knew he was so close to having the answer for Sam. "I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner," Castiel said quietly. Dean tore his gaze away to look down at his hands.

"Thank you for helping," Dean mumbled. If it had not been for Castiel, he could have been seriously hurt. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, still exhausted from his time in hospital. It was impossible to sleep with machines beeping constantly around him.

"I'm sorry I can't do more," Castiel whispered, his voice faint and distant. For a moment, Dean wished Castiel would do more. He wished he would just go and help Sam, make everything okay. He just wanted everything to be back to normal, how it all used to be before they moved to that house.

Things had never been normal for them, and Dean often wondered what normal was, but to him things had been fine before they had moved to some run-down house in a town they did not know. Everything had gone wrong since they had moved there. Dean leaned back against the side of the cabin and closed his eyes. There were a few minutes of silence before he heard the soft rustle of Castiel moving and then a light weight across his shoulders.

He cracked one eye open to see the featherless wing curling around his shoulders. Castiel was back to reading, and so Dean took a moment to imagine what it would be like to have a wing around him that actually had all its feathers. He imagined it would be warm, like being cocooned up in safety. He curled up a little closer to Castiel and pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead on them and closing his eyes again.

The next thing Dean knew, he was being jolted away by Anna shaking his shoulder. He jumped and looked up at her, eyes flying wide open. Castiel was resting beside him, eyes closed and breathing steady. It was the first time Dean had actually seen him asleep, and he stared for a moment in his sleep-addled state before turning his attention back to Anna. "Dean, come on, I want to show you something," she whispered. She was cradling a book to her chest, a large, heavy-looking thing with an old, battered cover.

Anna pulled Dean up from the floor and led him out of the cabin. The sun was still high in the sky and it was still warm outside, Dean figured he must have only been asleep for an hour at the most. They sat down on the grass outside the cabin and Anna opened the book at a place she had marked with ribbon. Dean's gaze landed on the old drawing that took up the whole right page. It was a man with wings stretched up towards the sky. He was floating above the ground, it seemed, and he had long hair, but Dean's attention quickly snapped to the title on the other page. _Angels._

"Anna, he's not an angel. Angels don't exist," Dean hissed lowly. Anna rolled her eyes.

"Dean," she said sternly, "men with wings don't exist." Dean bit his lip and looked at the picture again.

"But he doesn't have long hair. He has a _trench coat_," he muttered. Anna sighed, exasperated and flicked through the pages.

"That's just an artist's interpretation. People have been saying they've seen angels for a long time now. There are so many different stories. Old men who heal people, children who see the future, random strangers on the street, they've all been called angels," she explained as she trailed her fingers over the text. "I mean, if angels are real, he could be one."

Dean looked towards the cabin and worried on his bottom lip for a moment. "Do we ask him?"

"Do you think he'd give an honest answer?" Anna said with a pointed look, eyebrows arching up towards her hairline. Dean had to laugh a little.

"Maybe not… but maybe if we're right, he'll stop hiding it," Dean said with a shrug before leaning over and picking up the book. "Come on, let's see." He offered his hand to Anna and helped her up before they both returned to the cabin.

Castiel was still asleep so Dean dropped the open book on the ground in front of him. The man jolted at the loud thud, eyes snapping open and body tensing up like a whip cord. His gaze flew to the book and he stared at the image of the angel taking up the whole page. Dean watched as his wings curled up against his back and he swallowed heavily. "Either you're the birdman, or you're an angel," Dean said quietly.

It was a bold statement, but the look of loss, grief and confirmation on Castiel's face as he looked up at the boy soon proved him right. "I didn't think angels existed," Dean pushed. Castiel looked down at the picture again, trailing his hand over the page lightly.

"We've existed longer than you could imagine." His voice was distant and faint, yet still etched with roughness.

"Then why are you here?" Anna spoke up softly. "Why were you in a shed? Why aren't you in Heaven?"

"We don't all have the comfort of living in Heaven. I was stationed on Earth, to keep watch over humanity. When an angel… when we uh, disobey, we get cast out." Castiel frowned and drew his hand away from the picture. "I was cut off from Heaven because I began to question my superiors. I was getting too close to humanity."

Dean slowly sat down in front of Castiel, legs crossed. "I thought angels were guardians. Getting close to people can't be bad if you're a guardian," Dean said. Castiel brought his eyes up to meet Dean's, and his look was carefully guarded and cold.

"Angels are not there to perch on your shoulders. Angels are warriors of God, I'm a soldier. I was put here to protect you all from sin… until I started to question what sin was," he trailed off and slowly flexed his wings.

"Cas?" Anna's voice was soft and gentle as she moved closer. He looked up at her, the light coming through the broken roof catching on his pale eyes. "Come outside, we want to wash your wings," she said gently. Dean had never agreed to this, but he had to agree. The wings were filthy and would never heal with all the dirt and grime clinging to them.

Anna offered her hand to Castiel and he took it reluctantly. "I don't need washing," he said quietly, but still let her help him to his feet.

"Of course you don't," Anna retorted as she led him slowly to the door. Dean tucked himself up against Castiel's side and took some of his weight, and together he and Anna managed to get the angel out into the sunlight.

"This really isn't necessary," Castiel grumbled as they led him out onto the jetty and sat him down on the boards. He stilled and looked around at his surroundings for a good few minutes before bringing his eyes to Dean. "This is the place from your dream," he said quietly. Dean nodded and sat beside him, just like they had done that night in his dream. He reached up a hand and placed it where had done before, right where the grand curve of Castiel's wing should be. Castiel looked at the hand for a moment before slowly stretching his wings out to either side.

The sun hit the membrane of the wing and Castiel sighed gently, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he stretched his wings out to their full size. He had quite the wing span. Dean smoothed his hand up over Castiel's left wing, gently removing some of the dead feathers that were just clinging on. Anna had disappeared back to the cabin but she was soon on her way back with an old towel she had been using for Castiel's nest in her hands.

Anna knelt beside Castiel and slowly started to peel his coat away. It had been shredded where his wings appeared to have pushed through, and she removed the tattered remains carefully. He let her, basking in the sun with his eyes closed. Dean gently tidied up Castiel's wings, removing any feathers that were beyond help and putting them down on the jetty.

When Anna had removed the coat and the dark jacket underneath, leaving just the dirty remains of Castiel's shirt, she leaned down to the water with the towel and soaked it before lifting it out and wringing out the excess water. She handed the towel to Dean and he began to rub the towel over the wings slowly. He scrubbed away the tougher dirt and paid attention to the joints where the muck had gathered. Anna was using a smaller towel she had brought with her to clean up Castiel's fingers. The angel was watching her curiously, splaying his fingers out so she could clean them better.

Dean stretched Castiel's right wing out gently to clean the membrane while it was taut, and allowed himself to imagine yet again what they were like with all their feathers. Dreams never really did anything justice, and he wanted to see just what Castiel's wings were like in real life. They spent over an hour washing Castiel, and then they helped him back into the cabin. He left his jacket and coat off, wrapping up in his blankets again.

Castiel actually looked almost human with clean skin so he no longer looked like a wild tramp living in the shed. Anna and Dean left him to rest, heading back through the woods together. "Do you think he'll ever get better?" Dean asked quietly as they walked.

"We'll see. I think if he wants to get better, he will," she said gently. Dean glanced across to see the friendly smile on her face, the honest blue eyes, and he was suddenly so glad he had a friend like Anna.


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N: Hello my little muffins. Here's your update! Sorry for the delay again, and I haven't read this back through so apologies for any errors. I will be going through all the chapters and straightening things up at some point.**

**Big thank you to my lovely betas, the-fourth-horseman and destielengineering on tumblr **

**THIS IS NOT THE END. I REPEAT THIS IS NOT THE END. Ohhhh no, the mature content is there for a reason, mah beauties.**

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

The infection was taking over Sam's lungs. He could hardly breathe any more without the machine that inflated his lungs for him. Dean watched from where he was sat at the side of his bed as his brother's chest rose and fell slowly, artificially. His dad was getting himself a coffee, leaving Dean to sit and listen to the whirs and beeps of the machines around him.

Sam had to get better. Sam was all he had. Without his brother, he only had his dad, the man who beat the bad behaviour out of him. He also had Castiel, but Dean got the feeling that he would not have the angel hanging around for much longer. Nothing good stayed around in Dean's life. "You've gotta get better, Sammy," Dean said quietly, voice faint and foreign to his own ears. His brother did not respond. Dean drew in a breath and blinked away the tears. If his dad caught him crying then he would probably be mad.

"When you get out of here, I'm gonna introduce you to someone. You'll like him. He's a bit rough, he doesn't make a lot of sense, but he's my friend… Sammy?" One of the machines nearby started to beep loudly and Dean's blood started to pound in his ears. Within seconds, nurses were rushing into the room and surrounding the bed.

Dean felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Please leave the room so we can help him," the young nurse said softly, guiding Dean out of his chair and towards the door. Dean's eyes were locked on Sam as the doctors and nurses flattened out the bed and started to work. His brother was surrounded, but Dean did not want to leave.

"No, please, I want to stay," he managed to say, but the nurse was insistent in pushing him towards the door.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, but you can't. They need to do their work," she answered, finally getting him to the door. She pushed him outside and then closed the door, leaving Dean stood in the corridor, numb and on the verge of tears.

"Dean?" Dean span around as he heard his dad's voice. "What's happening?" He was stood a few feet away, frowning with a cup of coffee in one hand and a can of cola in the other.

"I don't know," Dean choked out. "He was fine, and then the machine started beeping and…" He trailed off and gestured towards the room full of barked orders and stats being called out. His dad put the drinks down on the little table between the chairs in the corridor and moved over to crouch in front of Dean.

He turned Dean towards him and straightened up his shirt gently before smiling. "He's going to be okay. Trust me," he said quietly. "Wanna know a secret?" Dean nodded slowly, feeling the lump in his throat tightening and threatening to spill all his emotions out. He was strong than that, so he swallowed it all down. "I've been praying," his dad said quietly. "Praying that he'll be okay, every night. If there is a god, then he'll make sure Sammy's okay." Dean stared at his dad for a moment.

Of course. Prayer. He managed a smile and then his dad was pulling him into a tight hug. Dean wrapped his arms around his dad's neck and buried his face against his shirt, breathing in the familiar smell of aftershave, whiskey and motor oil. The door to the room opened up again and a nurse called over to them. "He's stable again," she said with a tight smile, "but the doctor would like to talk to you, Mister Winchester." His dad looked at the nurse for a minute before looking to Dean with a grim smile and ruffling his hair.

"Go sit with your brother while I talk to the doctor, Dean," he ordered gently. Dean nodded before heading into the room and sitting down on the chair again. Sam looked even paler than before. Dean reached out to take Sam's hand in his and watched as his dad talked with the doctor.

The doctor, a young man with dark, dishevelled hair, looked glum as he spoke, and his dad looked down and ran a hand through his hair. The doctor carried on talking for a minute before reaching out to squeeze his dad's shoulder and then leaving. His dad ran his hand over his face for a moment before gathering himself and returning to Dean.

The smile on his face was wrong and Dean felt his stomach twist. Sam's hand was cold and clammy in his. "We're gonna stay here tonight," his dad said quietly, squeezing his shoulder gently before moving around to the armchair on the other side of the bed. He settled there and they sat in silence, listening to the machines that were keeping Sam alive.

After a long while, their dad fell asleep in his chair, head tilted back and mouth slightly open as he breathed deep and heavy. Dean watched him for a while before sighing and tugging his chair around so he was facing the bed. He looked at his brother's pale face, his slightly blue lips, and closed his eyes. Dean placed his elbows on the bed and pressed his hands together, tilting his head up towards the ceiling.

"I pray… to… the angel Castiel," he whispered. "I don't know if you can hear me but… my brother's getting worse. He really needs your help. I know you can help him Cas, I believe you can do it… just, please don't let him die." He sniffed and quickly wiped at his eyes. "Please."

* * *

The room was cold when Dean stirred awake again. His dad was awake, cradling Sam's small hand in his own, large hand and covering his mouth with the other. He startled a little as Dean shifted. "Morning, son," he said quietly.

"Morning," Dean yawned, slowly straightening up in his chair. It had hurt his back and his head was pounding but he ignored it all. He stretched his arms above his head as his dad started fishing around in his pocket for his wallet.

"Go get us something to eat and drink, would you?" he grumbled, sorting out a couple of notes and passing them over the bed. Dean took the money and slid down from the chair before heading out of the room. He glanced back briefly to see his dad resume his position at Sam's side, holding his hand and watching, waiting. Dean knew what he was waiting for.

He took a detour, heading instead towards the nearest nurses' station. He could get food later, but now he had to find Missouri. He asked around a lot and lied his way smoothly through any questions, managing to convince the nurses that he was her grandson, or rather his dad had married into the family and taken Dean with him. After a while he found out where she was and hurried to see her. She was on the same floor, but at the other end of the hospital. He had never realised just how much she walked.

He slowed when he reached her door, peering around to see her laid in bed, hooked up to various machines. He knocked on the open door before slowly moving forwards. "Dean!" she wheezed out, a smile cracking onto her face as she held out her hand to him. "What a beautiful surprise." Dean smiled and took her hand as he pushed himself up onto the bed, perching on the edge.

"Hey, Missouri," he said quietly. She squeezed his hand lightly and breathed through her oxygen mask for a moment before removing it.

"What are you doing all the way over here?" She replaced the mask again as Dean sighed and looked down at his lap.

"I think… my brother's dying," he said quietly. Dean was not stupid. Dean was smart for a kid his age. He knew what was happening.

"Oh, sweetie," Missouri said quietly, pushing herself up in bed a little more and putting her oxygen mask aside. "My friends said he was getting worse."

Dean looked at her for a moment and bit his lip. "Do they think he'll die?" Missouri's eyes saddened a little and she cradled Dean's hand in both of hers.

"Unless he gets some real help, there's no hope for him," she said gently. Dean swallowed hard and clutched the money he was still holding in his hand.

"I… I need to go and get some food," he said quietly as he slipped down from the bed. "Bye, Missouri." He headed towards the door, wanting to be alone for the inevitable onslaught of tears.

"Goodbye, Dean," she muttered quietly after him. Dean did not know why, but there was a sharp, painful tug in his chest at those words.

He brushed the tears from his cheeks as he headed downstairs towards the cafeteria. He ignored everyone, the curious looks and the people who appeared as if they might stop him and ask him if he was okay. He would be fine. He had to be fine. If he broke down then he was weak and he could not be weak. Sam needed him to be strong. His dad needed him to be strong. He quickly bought some packaged sandwiches, a can of cola and a cup of coffee before hurrying back upstairs.

His dad beckoned him over when he got back to the room, taking the food and drink from him before pulling him up onto his knee and wrapping his arms around him. "Dean, Ellen's coming to pick you up soon," he said quietly. "This isn't the place for you right now." Dean felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.

"Dad, no," he choked out, twisting to look his dad in the face. "I'm staying here. Sammy needs me."

"Sammy will be fine," he said sternly. "I want you home and safe. Anna's mother said you can stay with them." Dean frowned and squirmed off his dad's knee, grabbing his cola before storming around to his chair and slumping down.

He stayed in his chair, silent, until Ellen arrived with a young girl in tow. She must have been about four years old, with her blonde hair tied back messily and her clothes dusty and dirty from playing outside. Ellen hoisted her up from the floor and held her in her arms as she looked from Dean to his dad. "I'm sorry, John, I really am," Ellen said quietly. He nodded and sighed, draining his coffee before looking at Dean. "Sorry I couldn't take him, I'm out of town this weekend," she added as the little girl squirmed in her arms.

"It's fine," his dad said gruffly. "Thank you for picking him up. I'll see you later, Dean. I promise." Dean shrugged before slipping out of his chair and looking at his brother. He did not want to leave Sam, but this was his chance to talk to Castiel again.

Dean left with Ellen, sitting on silence in the ride back in her old pickup truck. The girl, Jo, sat beside him in her booster seat, trying to make idle conversation about dogs. He tried to engage, but his mind was elsewhere, and Ellen seemed to understand that. She took Dean's place in the conversation instead, but he was still glad when they pulled up on the street outside Jo's house. "Now behave," Ellen teased lightly. "And if you need anything, Jo's mother has my number." Dean nodded and thanked Ellen before climbing out of the truck.

He watched as the battered red vehicle rattled off up the street towards Ellen's house and he was left outside a small, wonky looking house. The weatherboards were worn and needed repainting and a few of the shutters were hanging off. The grass was dry and yellow but there was a large, green plant making its way up the front of the house. There was a large tree standing to one side of the house, shadowing it with its dry leaves that danced in the warm morning breeze.

He would have to go home later and get some clothes, but for now he headed up the path towards Anna's house. He was halfway there when the door burst open and the girl came running out, red hair flying in the wind. "Dean!" she called, colliding with him halfway. He left out a soft 'ooft' of surprise and returned her hug. "Oh my God, Dean, you need to come see this," she hissed, grabbing his hand tightly before dragging him away from the house.

She pulled him all the way down the street, past his house, and down into the woods. They started to run when they were in the shade of the trees and Dean knew where they were going. The birds chirped loudly overhead and the trees whispered and danced. Dean's breath was coming out sharp and fast and his head was pounding but he followed Anna like she was a beacon until the cabin came into view.

There was a figure out on the jetty, hunched over with legs dangling down into the water. It was clearly Castiel, but as Dean got closer, he noticed the wings did not look so skeletal, so bare. He followed Anna down to the jetty slowly and out onto the weathered boards. "Hey, Cas," Anna called. The angel lifted his head to look at them both, a gentle smile coming onto his face.

"Anna, Dean," he said quietly. "It's good to see you again." His pants were rolled up to his knees and he was dangling his bare feet in the water. He had rolled up his shirt sleeves but still had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

As Dean drew closer, Castiel slowly flared his wings out to either side, and Dean froze. Feathers were starting to grow back. Where the wings had just been skin and bone before, they were now coated in a light blanket of feathers. Some longer feathers were starting to grow, grey and silver and brown, shimmering in the sunlight. Dean slowly moved up beside Castiel, lifting one hand to gently run over the new, fluffy feathers.

Anna watched from a distance, hands clasped in front of her and a broad grin on her face, as Castiel's wing pushed up into Dean's hand and Dean felt the sharp jolt of energy and familiarity pulse through his veins. "How?" Dean asked quietly, smoothing his hand over the soft, downy feathers. Castiel tilted his head back to look at him and smiled, honestly.

"Do you know how many angels actually get prayed to?" His voice was soft yet rough, a comforting rumble that soothed Dean's worries a little. Dean shook his head slowly and stared at the angel.

"Not many at all. People pray to God, not angels. People maybe sometimes pray to Gabriel, or Michael, but Castiel?" He grinned, lopsided, and then flared his wings out to either side. "It's like a dam being broken down," he muttered.

Dean smiled and slowly dropped his hand. At the back of his mind, he was sad. Castiel was getting better, and that meant he would leave. All the things he had to tell the angel suddenly flooded into his mind and he sank down next to Castiel, crossing his legs on the boards. "Cas… remember Missouri?" The angel nodded his head slowly, looking down at the ripples in the water. "She says she doesn't have much time left… she wants you to visit her," he said quietly as he tugged his shoes and socks off and rolled up his jeans.

He sat beside the angel and dangled his feet in the water too, enjoying the cool liquid against his skin. Anna was soon sat beside him, sandals cast aside and jeans rolled up. "I can't visit her," Castiel said quietly. "I can't leave this place." Dean looked at the angel and sighed. He could understand that argument. Even if Castiel was healthy enough to travel, his wings made him stick out like a sore thumb. "Tell her I send my condolences," he added gently.

"I will… and… my brother-"

"I know," Castiel interrupted, looking down at his knees. "I heard. I wish I could do more."

They fell into silence and remained by the jetty, enjoying the summer morning. Anna engaged Dean in a conversation about birds, naming the ones that were singing around them, and Castiel told them where those birds came from, and the original names for them, and the Latin names. They all sat there until it got near dinner time and Dean and Anna left Castiel to enjoy his afternoon soaking up the sunlight, a commodity he had not had in years.

* * *

Dean lay in the dark, staring up at the cracked ceiling. He could just make out the faint lines in the pale light of the moon, and traced them over and over with his eyes. They had made a makeshift bed for him on the floor out of an old mattress and some blankets. He had slept on worse in motels, but he still could not get to sleep that night.

He heard Anna's bed shift and turned his head to see a wide, bright pair of blue eyes staring at him. "You can't sleep," she stated quietly. He shook his head slowly and she scrambled out from under the sheets, dropping to her knees on the floor before crawling over. "Me either," she whispered, pushing him aside so he was pressed up against the wall and slipping under the blankets with him.

Dean frowned at her. Girls hardly ever climbed into bed with him, he actually had no idea how to handle such a situation. Anna lay on her side and propped her head up on one hand. "Sam'll be okay," she said quietly. Dean carefully rolled over to face her and let the frown leave his face. She was just a friend. Of course she was just a friend.

"Missouri says he needs help," Dean murmured. Anna slowly rested her head down but kept her gaze on Dean, her eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"He'll get the help he needs," she said softly.

"How can you still think that?" She shrugged lightly and smiled as she closed her eyes.

"I believe. I have faith."

* * *

Dean was sat eating breakfast with Anna when her mother came into the room holding the phone. "It's your dad, honey," she said quietly as she passed it to Dean. He took the phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Hey, dad," he muttered, idly using his spoon to play with his cereal.

"_Hey, Dean-o… look, the doctor says it's not good, Sammy's only getting worse. I think maybe sending you home was a bad idea. I'm gonna come fetch you… I thought you'd want to be with your brother._" Dean felt his heart sink and his chest grow tight. He swallowed hard around his breakfast, trying to stop it from making its way back up. "_They've done everything they can, son. I'm sorry… just… I'll be there to pick you up in an hour._" His dad's voice was tight and well-schooled but Dean could hear the grief behind it. The doctors had done everything they could. But Dean… Dean had not done _everything._

He did not bother saying a word to his dad, shoving the phone in Anna's hands before he was pulling on his shoes and running out of the door. Tears stung in his eyes as the morning sun beat down on him, but he paid heed to none of it. There was only one person who could help Sam. He had to do something before it was too late. His feet pounded the sidewalk as he sprinted towards the woods, his breath tight and painful in his chest.

He heard someone running behind him and knew it was Anna. "Dean! Wait!" He did not listen. He could not listen. He ran past his house and down the side, ignoring the sway of the trees and the calls of the birds. His mind was racing and his heart was pounding. He had to save Sam. He could not live without Sam. He needed help and he needed it now.

He burst through the cabin door and startled Castiel awake. His wings flared out to either side and he sat up straight, blue eyes sharp and angry. Dean ignored it all and fell in front of the angel, grabbing a fistful of shirt in each hand. "You have to help Sammy!" he cried, the tears starting to fall freely. "The doctors can't do anything, he's gonna die. He's gonna die and leave me alone. You have to help him."

"I can't, Dean," Castiel sighed, eyes softening just a little.

"Please," Dean choked, feeling all the emotions he had held back flooding forward like the dam walls had been broken. "You've gotta help him. Don't leave me alone. I can't be alone." Castiel place a hand on each of Dean's shoulders and steadied him, eyes boring straight into Dean's soul.

"Dean… I can't. I'm sorry… I just can't."

"What sort of angel are you?" Dean yelled, his voice wavering and cracking. Castiel recoiled, wings snapping tight to his back and face going ashen. "You can't even heal one kid! He's just one sick kid and you can't even do that! You're not an angel," Dean's voice lowered to a hiss and he coughed around the tears. "You're just a tramp I found in the shed."

Anna's hand was gentle on his shoulder, pulling him away slowly. "Come on, Dean. Let's go wait for your dad." Her voice was soft and persuasive and Dean was numb and sobbing. He yielded to her touch and slowly stood up, not bothering another look at Castiel. He left slowly with Anna, one of her hands around his shoulders. She did not say another word. Maybe she did not have any words to say. Dean was glad, either way. Nothing would ever be right again.

* * *

Sam already looked dead. He was pale, his eyes sunken, and he did not have the energy to even wake up anymore. Dean sat at his brother's bedside with his dad and waited. He was done praying for a miracle. No miracle was coming. Dean Winchester had officially lost all his faith in God and all of God's servants. They were no use.

In the evening, Dean curled up on the bed with Sam and clung to him like they always used to in the motel rooms. His dad rested his head on his forearms on the side of the bed and buried his eyes. His eyes were sore and red like he had been crying for days and had not slept, and Dean knew that was the truth. The family sat in silence as they all drifted off into sleep.

The beeps of the heart monitor lulled Dean into a strange world made of pulsing light and energy. It surrounded him and covered him and wrapped him up. He was suspended and yet he was pressed up something on all sides. It was the most bizarre dream he had ever had, and yet it felt so right. Voices whispered to him from every direction, their hushed tones brushing against his ears and dancing around him. He did not understand a word they said, but they were comforting. A distant chant, something like an ancient song, echoed towards him. It sounded like it was sung by a choir and yet one voice all at once and it sounded familiar, as if he had heard it before.

The chant grew in volume, danced closer to him, and he could feel the energy and the vibration from it. He reached out to touch it, to run his fingers over the rises and the falls, to follow the pattern. It vibrated against his fingertips and circles around him like a snake before stretching out before him like a bird and diving like a fish. It was everything all at once. Dean felt like he was flying through the universe, like he could see the vast expanse of time and space.

Suddenly everything was constricting in on him, zooming towards him like the ground coming towards a diver. He gasped for air and clawed for consciousness, and then suddenly he was leaping awake next to Sam. It was still dark, but something had most definitely changed. The heart monitor had changed its tone and there was movement beside him.

"Sammy?" Dean scrambled for his brother's hand and his dad was quickly awake, reaching for the other. They both held their breaths as Sam scrunched his brows together and moaned gently, head rolling to one side.

"Hey, Sammy," his dad breathed from the other side of the bed. Sam's brows lifted and he slowly opened his eyes to look at them both. The moment was short lived as he started to choke on the breathing tube, but the nurses were quickly in to remove it and see if he could breathe on his own.

His lungs were miraculously clear. The infection and the fluid were gone and the lung that had completely deflated was back to normal. The doctors would never find an explanation for it but a few of the nurses went home with a new faith. As Sam sat up slowly with the help of his dad, Dean slipped down from the bed. Maybe if Sam was better, someone else would be too. "I'll be back soon, dad," he said quickly before he darted out of the room, not giving his dad chance to argue.

He ran through the corridors, much to the nurses' disgrace, until he reached the ward Missouri had been on. He rushed past the nurses' station and finally slid to a halt in front of the lady's room. His heart screeched to a halt as he got to the open door and saw the empty bed beyond, the sheets neatly made.

He stared at the empty space, struggling to get his head around it all. Missouri was gone. He rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. A hand appeared on his shoulder and he jumped a little, spinning to look up into the sympathetic face of a nurse. "I'm sorry, she passed away not too long ago." Dean nodded and swallowed hard. He would have liked to have seen Missouri once more, to tell her that Sam was okay, that everything would be fine. "She wasn't alone, though, don't worry."

Dean froze, mind sliding to a standstill once more. "Who… who was with her?" The nurse shrugged gently and straightened up.

"I didn't see it, but a few of the nurses said they saw a man, a tramp. Don't know how he got in, they were ready to call the police, 'cept Miss Mosely was holding his hand and smiling like she'd known him all her life," she sighed and folded her arms. "Funny, that. Nice lady like her bein' friends with a tramp in a battered old trench coat."

Dean could not help the small smile that crept onto his face. "You gonna be okay, sweetie?" He looked up at the nurse and smiled a little broader.

"Yeah, everything's gonna be fine," he said, and for the first time in a long time he thought he might actually mean it.

* * *

The birds chirped merrily as if they had something to talk about and the tall trees whispered and danced in the afternoon breeze. Dean took a bit out of his sandwich as he made his way between the thick trunks towards the lake, his heart feeling light and his mind clear. He felt, for once, as if everything was right in the world. His dad had dropped him off so he could get out of the hospital for a bit, seeing as his brother was doing so well so fast. It had only been a few hours, but the doctors were saying that Sam would be coming home in the next few days. To make it all even better, his dad had vowed to come off the drink at last, so they could make a real go of their new life together.

The cabin was bathed in golden light as the trees thinned out and revealed it. The waters of the lake shimmered and danced like they were made of gold and birds swooped low over the gleaming surface. Crickets sank merrily in the grass and a woodpecker was busy nearby. Dean finished his sandwich and made his way to the door of the cabin, pushing it open to reveal Anna, on her own. Dean froze, hand on the door handle. The girl slowly straightened up, folded blanket in her hands. The rest were piled neatly at her feet.

"Hey, Dean," she said quietly, running her hand over the blanket before placing it on top of the pile.

"Where's Cas?" Dean asked, his mouth going dry. Anna shook her head and looked up at him, genuine sadness in her eyes.

"I came here this morning and… he was gone. He must have left some time in the night. There's… no sign of him," she muttered.

Dean's hand slowly dropped to his side and he looked around at the abandoned cabin. Deep down he had always known this day would come. "Do you… do you think he'll come back?" He met Anna's gaze and she sighed before crossing the cabin to hug him, that friendly, warm hug that always seemed to make things a little better.

"To be honest, I don't think he will. I think he's gone home."

Dean had to admit, selfishly, that his heart sank even further at that. He knew he should have been happy that Castiel was back to doing what he was made to do, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but sadness and loss. Castiel had gone home. Castiel was gone.


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: A short update because it's technically a filler chapter, and I wasn't meant to write today, and I'm overheating and yeah... but I like it and I hope you like it :) After this we get into the real meat of the story.**

**Big thank you to my lovely betas, the-fourth-horseman and destielengineering on tumblr**

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

_Eight Years later…_

Dean knocked off work early but it was still getting dark outside. The long winter nights had drawn in and his shifts at the garage often ended later, leaving him to walk home in the dark. It was not something that particularly bothered him. Dean knew how to care for himself. All his years fighting off his dad had taught him all he needed to know. Bobby had let him leave early to get home and make sure Sam got his tea and started his homework. With their dad off on the other side of the country, as usual, it was Dean's job to look after his little brother.

At the age of fourteen, Sam was already starting to get as tall as Dean. Dean had pretty much finished his growth spurt, but Sam just kept going and going. He could tell that one day his little brother would be taller than him, but Dean would still always be there for him. It was engrained into his mind like it had been carved into rock.

Dean threw his rucksack over his shoulder and started the walk home. It was a long trek along an empty road, but it always gave him time to clear his mind. It was strange how they had not moved house in eight years. Before, they had always moved around the country as their dad shifted from job to job. When they had moved into their house in Wichita, the whole family had made friends with several of the nearby residents. When their dad got a job hunting down vintage cars all over the country, he had left Dean and Sam in the house under the watchful eye of Ellen Harvelle.

Dean had to admit, if it weren't for Ellen then they would have had pretty awful teenage years. The lady had persuaded their dad to leave them in Wichita when he got his new job. She had said she would look after the boys, and so she had. The Winchesters' house was bigger than Ellen's, and so she had spent more and more time there with Jo until their dad offered for her to stay there for good. And so they all lived together. There was plenty of space.

Dean had widened the loft hatch by himself so he could still keep his room. He liked it up there. Now the roof was fixed and he had had the walls sorted, it was perfect. He could lie in bed at night and watch the stars through the skylight, and he would think back to his childhood. He would never forget those bizarre days eight years ago. He would never forget the angel that had visited him, that had changed his life.

He hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder as he walked down the street towards home. It was dark, the shadows reaching down into the alleys on either side. He eyed them cautiously as he went, keeping his wits about him. He had been on his guard a lot lately. He had borrowed some money to put Sam through school, to keep their heads above water, it would only be a matter of time before they found him and found out he could not pay it back.

The things he did for Sam were sometimes simply ridiculous. He had always known that borrowing money from some shady characters was a bad idea, but where else was an eighteen-year-old going to get the money for his little brother? Their dad was on the other side of the country and the work at the salvage yard and garage was certainly not enough to keep Sam fed, pay for his books, pay for his extra-curricular activities and keep him happy. They may have had help from Ellen, but she ran the local bar and never really brought in enough to support three children. Dean had taken matters into his own hands.

As he reached one of the bars in town, music muffled inside along with the laughter of the patrons, a shadowy figure slinked out from the alley that passed down the back of the bar. Dean halted, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag as the young woman planted her feet solidly and pushed her hands into her pockets, a wicked smile on her face. She had short, blonde hair and her eyes were almost black in the darkness. "Huh, Meg, was just thinking about you, how about that?" he tried to quip, but she was soon sauntering up into his personal space.

"Yeah, how about that?" she purred, cruel smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "I think it's about time we had a little chat, Dean. See, daddy's getting impatient, he doesn't like waiting too long for what's his." Of course. Azazel never did like waiting for money.

It had been a year since he took the money, and some of it had been paid back. Dean had calculated that he would have been able to pay it all, but things always happened in life. With the Impala breaking down, the boiler breaking, and Sam's medical bills that had only just been paid off, the loan and Dean's wages had barely been enough combined. "I just… need an extension," he said with the best smile he could manage. "Just a bit longer."

"Oh no, Dean-o, your time is well and truly up," came another voice and Dean felt his stomach twist at the sickly sweet tone of it. A taller, blonde woman slipped from the shadows, high heels clicking on the sidewalk. Behind her were two men, one older with greying hair and a creepy smile, the other was much younger with light brown hair styled neatly. "Alastair, Brady, grab him," the blonde woman, Lilith, ordered sharply. The two men surged forward and grabbed Dean by his arms before hauling him into the alleyway.

Dean felt his feet leave the ground before he was thrown forward, losing all his balance so he fell to the floor. He threw his arms in front to break his fall as regretted it as soon as his palms slammed into the damp, grimy concrete. His skin stung and he hissed as he quickly pushed himself up and round to face the four figures pushing him deeper into the alley. "We're done waiting, Dean," Lilith sighed, hand placed neatly on her hip.

Meg was at her side, arms folded as she stood as backup. Four against one hardly seemed fair, but then Dean had asked for this. Just when he thought it was bad enough, there was a deep snarl from the end of the alley closest to the street. Meg shifted slightly and Dean caught sight of the large dogs that strained at their chain leashes, teeth flashing in the dim light of the night. Another female figure was holding them back and Dean silently thanked the Lord that they were still chained up.

"Unless you have the money on you now, this is over," Lilith continued, looking positively bored. "You know the deal, and we're here to collect."

Dean's rucksack had been ripped from his shoulder by one of the men and was far out of his reach, which meant any tools he could have used as a weapon were also out of reach. His eyes darted from the bag back to the two men that were slowly rounding on him. "I don't have the money, okay? I don't. But I will have. I get paid on Friday, and if I just-"

"No more stalling, Dean. Time's up," Lilith snapped before motioning to the men and turning on her heel to leave.

Meg advanced along with Alastair and Brady, and Dean noticed the figure at the end of the street was approaching with the snarling pair of dogs. Dean loosened up his shoulder and kept his fists clenched as the three got closer. This was never going to end well. It was one again five people and two dogs. Either way, he had to at least give one of them a broken nose.

He dodged as Alastair went to grab him, slipping to one side and throwing a punch into the man's gut as the younger one, Brady, launched at him. He was caught off-balance and shoved into the wall, but he quickly brought his knee up into Brady's groin. As the man stumbled back, Alastair returned, surprisingly resilient for an older looking guy. As he put his fingers around Dean's throat and squeezed, Dean gasped for air and flailed for purchase against the wall.

He managed to get enough grip to shove forward and knock Alastair off-balance, and then he was facing down all three of them again. "This all you got?" he breathed as he straightened his back again.

"Just finish him, Alastair," Meg sighed, and Dean certainly did not miss the glint of silver in her hand. A knife was really making things even more unfair. Alastair went for him again and Dean ducked his punch but did not get off so lucky with the swing from Brady that hit him low in his gut.

He staggered and gasped for the air that had been knocked out of him, giving Alastair the chance to grab his throat and slam him into the floor. "Stop squirming, maggot," the older man hissed, pinning him down by his throat as Meg stepped over him, one leg on either side of Dean's, knife glinting in her hand.

She crouched low over Dean, bringing the knife up to press lightly under his chin. "Such a shame, such a waste of a pretty face," she sighed as the knife dug in, just enough to draw blood. "Stop squirming and I'll finish this fast," she hissed, but Dean decided to take full advantage of her crouching position.

It was worth a try, after all. He planted his feet on the ground and shoved his hips upwards and sideways, toppling her onto the floor before he brought a hand up to slam into Alastair's side. He leapt to his feet again as soon as he got the opportunity, planning to make a run for it, but came face to face with two, snarling Dobermans. He slid to a halt and then felt a strong hand on his shoulder before he was pulled up and slammed into another wall, the air rushing out of his lungs at the force of it.

Brady was leering in his face, hands firm on Dean's shoulders as Meg stepped up behind him. "Enough playing," she snapped as she pushed her hand forward forcefully. At first it did not hurt. At first Dean wondered what the discomfort was in his abdomen. He felt the warm liquid start to soak his clothes and then the pain set in, searing and white-hot. He cried out as the grip left his shoulders and the knife was removed before he slid slowly down the wall, clutching the wound. He was smart enough to know he would bleed out slowly and painfully.

Meg stood over him, wiping the blood from the blade with a handkerchief. "Kids, they'll never learn to pay up," she murmured. She was starting to get blurry, the pain clouding his vision and making his head swim. He closed his eyes and pressed against the wound, hoping and praying that this would all just end, that Sammy would be okay, that Ellen and Jo would be fine, that life would continue fine without him.

Just as the darkness threatened to overtake him, there was a sharp sound like sheets snapping in the wind. Dean jerked and his eyes flew open as he felt the presence stood before him, familiar and burning hot like a star. His vision was full of flaring tan coat as the man separating him from his attackers met them with full force, easily tossing Alastair aside and proceeding to shove Brady to the floor.

Dean watched as Meg sank the knife in, and saw the horror on her face as the figure slowly drew the knife out and tossed it on the floor as if he were removing a pin from his foot. She was soon turning and running, shouting to the figure at the end of the alley. "Let the dogs go!" she screamed. Dean heard the response that was yelled.

"They're running the other way, Meg! Let's just get the fuck out of here!" The two men scrambled to their feet before staggering as fast as they could to the end of the alley and disappearing out of view.

Dean gasped for air around the constricting pain in his abdomen, scrunching his eyes shut as his vision darkened and blurred. "Dean," said a haggard voice, gruff and low like the rumble of the Earth. "Look at me, Dean." Dean could not open his eyes. The darkness was taking over him. He felt warm hands on his own where he was pressing at the wound, gently prising them away.

His shirt was lifted and then he felt a palm, hot and charged with energy, pressing against the opening. He cried out at the searing heat that surged through his veins, lighting him up from head to toe with energy. His hand flew out to grab a fistful of coat as he gritted his teeth, the pain and light pushing through his body.

Suddenly it all began to recede, the light rushing back towards the wound and taking the pain with it. Dean gasped for air and his lungs did not ache and his stomach did not scream out in pain. He opened his eyes again and his vision was back to normal, and he could see a pair of worried, blue eyes watching him.

The familiarity of the gaze and the warmth of the touch was enough to send Dean reeling. "Dammit, Cas," he breathed, loosening his grip on the coat and letting his head thud back against the wall. "Couldn't you have just let me die?"

"It wasn't time yet," Castiel said quietly, removing his hand from Dean's abdomen and taking the warmth with it. Dean slumped against the wall and took a few deep breaths.

"Okay… just… get me home, please," he said through gritted teeth as began the struggle to get to his feet.

"You need medical attention," Castiel chided gently as he helped Dean to stand, easily pulling him up. Dean was the same height as Castiel now, if not an inch taller, and if that did not show just how much the times had changed then Dean did not know what would.

"I'm fine, seriously, you fixed me up, just help me get home," Dean growled as he rested a hand on Castiel's shoulder and leaned against him, clutching at his stomach with his free hand and hissing through his teeth.

"_Dean,_" Castiel begun.

"Cas," Dean snapped, glaring at him. "Help me get the fuck home."

The angel rolled his eyes before bending to scoop up Dean's bag from the floor. "This might disorientate you," he mumbled before pressing two fingers to Dean's head. The world lurched and span violently and Dean felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. The sensation lasted less than a second, and then suddenly they were stood in his bedroom.

Dean fell onto the bed and flopped back, staring up at the ceiling where the posters of pin-up models and cars were stuck haphazardly. He heard the thud of his bag on the floor and then nothing, so he dared a look in Castiel's direction. He was watching Dean with a frown on his face, and he looked so different that it knocked Dean off-kilter yet again.

His coat was clean, his shirt was white, he was wearing a tie that was loosened and twisted the wrong way. He had a little stubble on his face and his hair was stuck up in all directions, but he looked nothing like a homeless man anymore. "What are you doing here, Cas?" he asked quietly, ignoring the dull ache of the wound in his stomach. Cas had healed it up enough but it would still bruise and scar.

The angel pursed his lips and looked out of the nearby gable window before sighing and looking back to Dean, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight that was filtering into the room. "You called," he said quietly.

"I've been calling for eight fucking years," Dean snarled.

"This time you were in danger," Castiel sighed, passing a hand over his face.

"Oh great, so angels only help when you're about to die," he huffed before rolling over to face away from Castiel, pushing the pillow up under his head and frowning hard at the tape collection that was cluttering up his desk.

"We come when you most need us, when something isn't right. You weren't meant to die today, but the man who was meant to find you got into an accident caused by something else that wasn't meant to happen. If I hadn't stepped in-"

"So you're saying fate exists?" Dean looked over his shoulder to see Castiel nod mutely before looking down at the floor.

"Angels know what's wrong and what's right. While we can't predict the future, we know when something's going to happen that shouldn't. I knew you weren't meant to die today, I took it upon myself to prevent it." Dean let out a long breath and looked back to his desk.

All those years he had been praying to the angel, hoping he would turn up and tell him everything would be okay. The one thing that made his life unique and better in some way had been ignoring him for eight years. "I wasn't ignoring you," Castiel said quietly. "I have a job to do… it takes up a lot of my time. I'm not here to perch on your shoulder."

"I just wanted a friend, Cas," Dean snapped, rolling over again to face the angel. "I just wanted you back, just wanted someone to talk to. You just left without saying goodbye, but I thought we were friends. Friends say goodbye."

"I couldn't have said goodbye," he muttered, but his eyes were dark and sincere, boring into Dean's with that unblinking gaze.

"Why not? Why couldn't you have just said you were leaving?"

"Because-" Castiel faltered and rubbed a hand through his hair, only worsening the messy state it was in. "Because if I had stayed, I may never have left. I have a home, I have a job to do. I couldn't leave my life to… to look after a child."

"I needed you!" Dean snapped. "I needed you all those years. All those times dad wasn't happy with what I did. He said things would change, but they never did, you know."

"I know." Castiel's eyes dropped again and Dean was not sure what he wanted to do. One part of him wanted to punch the angel and hope he felt it, the other part wanted to hug him like he had done all those years ago as the shed burned down, as his life was turned upside down.

"So I guess you aren't staying again," Dean said quietly. Castiel shook his head slowly and finally looked back up. His face was bathed in shadow but Dean could see the shimmer in his eyes and the tension around his mouth.

"I can't, Dean. I'm sorry."

"See you in another eight years, then," Dean grumbled before throwing himself back over to face the other way.

The less attached he got, the less it would hurt. It was no use making friends with someone who would simply leave again. If he tried to make Castiel stay, tried to make him a permanent part of his life, then one day the angel would leave and Dean would be left alone again. All those years Dean had just wanted a friend, but maybe Castiel was not the friend he was looking for.

After a few moments of silence, there was the noise that sounded like sheets in the wind again, but, now Dean thought about it, it could easily be wings. He slowly rolled over to see that his room was empty and he was alone again. The darkness pressed in and he sighed heavily as the loneliness settled into his chest again. All he wanted was a friend. No one would ever be right. No one would ever give him the sense of home that Castiel brought.

Not for the first time in his life, Dean was well and truly alone.


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: I'd just like to apologise, a lot... I missed two weeks and it's horrible. The first week I was really sick, but then I started chapter 9 the week after and THEN my car got broken into. I'm just settling back into my routine again, so here it is! I haven't heard back from my betas yet but I wanted to get this up before I forgot x**

* * *

_**Chapter Nine**_

_Twelve Years Later..._

There was really only so much one person could take in life before it started to wear them down to their bare bones. It had been twelve years since Dean had last seen Castiel, he even counted the days on a calendar. He still prayed, still called out to him, but there was nothing. There was absolutely no answer. Dean needed him yet again. Three years ago, his father was shot and killed. Three years ago, Dean's life was turned upside down yet again.

Not only did Dean not have Castiel, but he was also losing Sam. His little brother was addicted to drugs Dean did not even want to start thinking about. He had met a girl called Ruby, and then it had all been downhill from there. Dean was running out of options. He had to get Sam out of that circle. He had to stop the inevitable from happening.

That was how Dean ended up stood in front of a ramshackle house at three in the morning, snow falling lightly around him. The tracker in Sam's phone had led him there. The windows were smashed, the door was hanging off its hinges and the roof looked very unstable. Dean was no expert, but it did not look like the most sanitary place to be shooting up. His mind immediately jumped to the possibilities of illnesses Sam could be picking up.

He needed to plan his attack, needed to calculate this perfectly. Tonight was not the night he would confront them. He needed Sam well away, safe and detoxing somewhere. Dean turned back to the Impala and clambered into its warmth. It was hard leaving Sam in that place, but for once Dean had to be rational. He would prepare somewhere he could keep Sam safe until the drugs were out of his system.

He drove back to their small apartment in town and made his way up the stairs. The apartment block was cold and dark as usual and Dean detested every part of it. It was only meant to be temporary but there just was not enough money coming in for them to get anywhere else. Sam spent all his money on whatever he was taking and Dean's wages from the garage went on rent and bills. If he could just get Sam sorted again, then maybe things would not be so bad. Maybe they could get a nice place somewhere.

Ever since Ellen and Jo died in the blast down town and Dean could not afford to keep the old house, they had been living in dull apartments. Every single day, Dean would think back to his old attic room and the creaking rafters, to the window seat in the gable window that looked down over the garden where the new shed stood, one of the panels in the fence kicked out where Dean and Anna had made a fast track into the woods.

He would think about the lake and the jetty, the silver fish in the water and the sun on his back. He would remember how his knees used to be scuffed and muddy and his hands used to be dirty from climbing trees and finding good hiding spots. All that was behind him, now he was alone. Anna was gone after they tried a relationship and it did not work out, her family moving away somewhere. Jo had been a thing for a while and Dean would probably never recover from seeing the building go up with people inside, would never get over how he could have easily been inside, on his way to meet Jo and Ellen for lunch.

He shook the memories from his head and pushed open the door to the apartment. He had tried to move on since then, had tried a relationship with a nice girl called Lisa, but none of it felt right. It was fake and meaningless and it failed to make him happy. Maybe he was doomed to live alone for the rest of his life, settling for quick one-night stands in seedy motel rooms and a hasty blow job in an alley. Dean had officially given up. He had even tried a few things with men and none of it worked. He was officially all out of juice.

He threw his keys down onto the table and slumped down on the sofa, letting his head fall against the back and closing his eyes. He needed a plan to sort it all out. He needed to make sure Sam was safe. An idea started to creep into his head. He remembered that Bobby, who was like a replacement father to him, had the old panic room he built in case of a nuclear war or something of the sort. The old man was paranoid about everything, including demons, and the room he had built was a perfect shelter.

Sam was smart, too smart to be locked in a house while Dean sorted everything out. He had to make sure his little brother was safe somewhere, well away from it all. Bobby's panic room was perfect, if a little over the top. He fished his phone out of his pocket and searched out Bobby's number. He would get it all organised and then grab a shower to ease his muscles before Sam got home. All he could do was hope it would work.

* * *

"Where are we going, Dean?" Sam sighed from the passenger seat, elbow against the window and head against his palm. He had been cheery when he had returned home, bouncing off the walls and making plans for the weekend, but now he was starting to come down. Dean gritted his teeth and set his eyes firmly on the road, trying his best to ignore the way his brother's arms were too skinny, his eyes gaunt and shadowed.

"Bobby's, he wants us to help with something," he answered quietly.

"It's eleven at night," Sam grumbled. "What the fuck does he need our help for now?"

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel and cleared his head. If he allowed Sam to pick apart what was happening, he would soon figure it out. "I dunno, said he just needed two tall, strong men to help out," he replied gruffly. He glanced up briefly to the sky that was now clear and star-speckled, silently praying to a creature who might not even exist any more.

The snow had not settled on top of yesterday's rain, luckily, and the Impala cruised along smoothly out of town and towards the scrapyard. Bobby owned two places, his own personal yard where he fixed up old clunkers in his own time and the garage where he repaired cars for the general public. Dean had to say he preferred the scrapyard. It was quiet and he could work in peace. Bobby sometimes paid him to do work on the old muscle cars, and it was Dean's favourite sort of work to do.

Sam huffed and slid further down in the seat, his long legs stretching out in the foot-well and his knees bumping against the dash. Dean had no idea how he was going to go through with his plan, all he knew was that he had to. He pulled off down the lane to Bobby's house and eased the Impala down the rocky surface.

Bobby's house was small and ramshackle but it was a place Dean enjoyed. When he wanted to get away from the damp, cold apartment, he would go to Bobby's and settle down with a few beers to watch TV with the only man he had really considered a father. His real father had been like a drill sergeant, like Dean was his little soldier, trained up to look after Sam, to not let anything happen to Sam, to make sure Sam was okay. Bobby liked Dean for who he really was, and Dean had to say he appreciated that.

When Dean had had a crisis in his life, when he had doubted his own sexuality, Bobby had been the one to hand him a beer and tell him to just relax and call the guy. Dean never did call that guy, but he did talk to Castiel, or rather the empty air in front of him, for three hours that night. In short, Bobby filled a void in Dean's life that he had never really known was there. They were family, and that was all that mattered.

Dean parked the Impala around the side of the house and they both climbed out into the cold winter air. "This had better be important," Sam griped as he pulled his jacket closer around his body. When he had been eighteen he had promised to be a big man with broad shoulders and a torso you could crash a truck into without doing any damage, but now he was thin and frail and it made Dean cringe to even think about it.

"I'm sure it is," Dean sighed as he led the way to the front of the house and climbed the porch steps to knock on the door.

There was a few moments of silence before the shuffling of feet beyond the door. It opened to reveal a shorter, older man in a dirty baseball cap. Bobby eyed them up for a second before motioning for them to follow him inside. Dean glanced to Sam with a smile before following the older man into the house. It was a small place, decorated in muted, dark colours that would give it a cosy feel if it weren't for the books and the engine parts scattered everywhere.

Bobby may have been a mechanic, but he was also incredibly smart. Dean had once tried to go through his collection of ancient lore books and had swiftly got a headache. Dean's favourite book of them all, however, was the small, dusty, dishevelled book on angels that he had stashed somewhere safe at the back of one of Bobby's bookshelves.

Most of the books were a little sketchy when it came to their lore, but the angel book had a lot of detail and a lot of information. Dean had read it cover to cover at least thirty times, possibly more. "This way, boys," Bobby said gruffly, leading them down the steps and into the basement.

"So what's wrong?" Sam asked as they walked.

"Got a damn leak in the roof and I can't reach it. Figured I could make some use of a bean pole like you," he answered. Dean walked behind the pair, feeling the anxiety twist in his stomach. "In here," Bobby sighed as he motioned into the panic room.

Sam was wary immediately. Dean could see it in the tight set of his shoulders and the way his head turned as he scanned the room. He suddenly realised Sam was looking for the product of the leak and he was quickly grabbing Bobby's jacket and dragging him out of the room. Sam span around just as Dean shut the heavy, iron door and locked it in place. "Dean!" Sam was up against the door, leaning down to look through the slot at Dean. "This isn't funny, let me out."

"Wish I could, Sammy, but you need to detox," Dean sighed. Bobby shook his head and started to walk away, leaving the brothers alone. "And I need to go find those sons-of-bitches and make 'em move on." Sam almost snarled before he kicked the door and turned away.

Dean ran a hand over his face and took a few, deep breaths. "I won't be long, Sammy."

"I don't care," Sam shouted from the other end of the panic room. Dean could see him scouting around the edges of the iron room, looking for a way out.

"No offense, but this one's smarter than you. I'll be back soon." He just caught the vicious glare from his brother before he turned and headed back up the stairs. Bobby was waiting at the top, arms folded.

"I sure hope you know what you're doin', boy," he said quietly.

"'Course I do. I'll push them out of that part of town and then Sam won't be able to go just wandering back to them," Dean assured, but inside his thoughts were in turmoil.

He had to drive the dealers further away from Sam, push them into hiding or something of the sort, or his brother would never have the strength to stay away from them. He made his way out of Bobby's house and into the cold evening air. Snow was starting to fall again, but Dean ignored it as he climbed back into the Impala and struck up the engine. She roared into life and Dean let out a long breath before looking up towards the sky, catching the twinkle of stars between the incoming clouds. "Castiel... I'm not sure if you're even listening any more... but... this is pretty stupid, what I'm doing. If this doesn't work, if something happens... look after Sammy, yeah?" There was an endless silence other than the gentle rumble of the engine. "Cas?" Nothing.

Dean shook his head and set off for the drug den, conscious of his father's old gun in the boot and Bobby's rifle. Things were getting serious, and he was suddenly grateful of all the lessons from his father on how to shoot a gun and how to defend himself. Sam had gotten off lightly, whereas Dean had spent hours some nights receiving bruises as his father kept getting the upper hand on him, making him pay for his mistakes. Of course, he had regretted teaching Dean how to throw a punch when he had come home drunk one night and Dean had broken his nose.

* * *

The house looked empty, but Dean knew better. He pulled the silver and white hand gun from the trunk and pushed it down the back of his jeans before pulling the rifle out and heading towards the house. The front door had an old gate on it that was locked. Dean rattled the gate but hid his body out of sight, waiting. It did not take long for someone to appear at the gate, check the street, and then unlock it.

Dean slammed the butt of the rifle into the man's head, making him slump to the floor without a sound, before ducking into the building. It was dark and damp and Dean was right to think it was unsavoury. This was not a safe place to put a needle anywhere near your body. He held the rifle tight to his shoulder as he crept forwards, listening carefully.

There was a small scuffle upstairs and Dean turned for the stairs, stepping gently, wary of creaking floorboards. He took each step slowly, keeping his breathing even as he listened. He could hear voices in one of the rooms above, and the gentle scuff of shoes just around the corner at the top of the stairs.

He was silent as he pressed up against the wall just at the top of the stairs and waited. Eventually, the person moved, walking just within Dean's grasp. He launched forward, hooking the rifle around the man's throat before hurling him down the stairs. He quickly disappeared into the shadows of a nearby room, small and disused, as quick footsteps started to approach.

Dean slipped from the shadows to press the barrel of the rifle to the back of the man's neck, making him stop dead in his tracks. "No turning around," he hissed lowly. "Who's in charge here?"

"I'll take you to her," the man breathed, hands lifting up to show he was unarmed. Dean did not believe for a second that was the truth.

"Lead the way." He nudged the man's neck with the barrel of the rifle and they started to move. He was led through the house towards the back until they reached a door that was almost hanging off its hinges, some damage from a fire that had happened in the building once.

The man opened the door and went in with his hands up, Dean holding the rifle close to his neck. He had been checking all the way to make sure no one was following, but he almost hesitated as he went into the room to see it full of people in various states of highs. Several were almost comatose on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling, some were shivering and rocking, some were rather alert but were wild eyed and watched Dean like hawks, and some were actually in the process of shooting up.

There must have been about twenty people in the room, laying on dirty blankets and pillows. It was rancid and Dean felt the bile bubbling up at the back of his throat. The man he had the gun to halted and Dean drew the gun back to give some space, make it just a little harder to disarm him. "Well, well," drawled a female voice, and Dean locked his gaze on the source immediately.

His stomach dropped as he recognised the slender form of the woman he had dealt with all those years ago. Clearly she was not into the drugs she was dealing, as Meg looked just as youthful as ever. She slowly stood from where she had been reclining in an old chair by a coffee table and approached slowly. "Look what the cat dragged in," she sneered as she stopped just a few feet in front of Dean and his hostage.

The lapse in Dean's concentration cost him dearly, something hard hitting the side of his head and sending him staggering away. His hostage span around and took the gun before driving the butt into Dean's neck and shoving him to the ground. Dean choked and tried to focus through the haze in his mind, but it was useless. The world was swimming and he was suddenly seriously regretting this. "What are you doing here, Dean-o?" Meg asked as she crouched down beside him, reaching out with cold fingers to hold his chin.

Dean felt too nauseous to answer, his mind becoming increasingly foggy. "Is this about your stupid little brother? Good customer, he is," she sighed. "You really thought this would do any good?" She lifted her gaze and looked around the room, a smile tugging at her lips. "No stranger to come and help you this time, boy. You're all ours."

* * *

Dean woke to a pounding headache and a damp, stagnant smell pressing at his nostrils. He coughed and screwed his eyes shut, registering dimly that he was hanging from something. He could feel a chain around his wrists, stringing him up vertically. As he moved, his shoulders ached and protested, his spine popping and screaming out at his brain in agony.

He opened his eyes and the room around him came slightly into focus, his vision still clouded with pain. It was silent and dark and the room was small. One window let in some light from a nearby street lamp, yellow glow illuminating the room. There was no furniture, just bare floorboards and peeling wallpaper. He was hanging from the rafters, so he judged he must have been at the top of the old house.

Dean heard voices getting louder as someone approached and clasped his hands around the chains, trying to take stop the metal digging into his wrists. There was also a rope around his wrists to make things more difficult. There was certainly no way of getting free. The door swung open and Meg entered with another woman at her side and a man. Dean did not recognise either of them, and so just fixed his glare on Meg.

"Don't look like that," she purred, stepping up right in front of him. "You still owe us a payment, and we're gonna collect." She was leaning right up to him, eyes flashing dark and dangerous. Dean was just about to bite back with an insult when the man who had come in with her threw a punch straight into his stomach. He coughed and gasped for air, just managing to get in a large gulp before there was another punch.

The punches kept coming until he could not breathe any more and he was sure most of his internal organs were ruptures, and ribs broken. Then his shirt was ripped away and there was a moment of silence before Meg was right in front of him again. "Who's gonna save you today?" she whispered before laughing and whirling away, leaving the man to do his work again.

He had a whip with barbs on the end, and Dean noticed this far too late to brace for the pain. It was like lightning shooting through his body. His skin felt like it was on fire and his blood was cold against it. He bit his cheek hard enough to make it bleed heavily as he cried out in pain, clutching at the chains above his head tightly. His last coherent thought was a desperate prayer to a long lost angel.

He lost consciousness at some point, only to be woken up by cold water being thrown over him and another onslaught of pain. It was when Meg was just picking up a knife when Dean felt it. He felt a presence pressing in on all sides, filling up the room with energy and heat. He felt the house rumble and groan under the force. Suddenly, there was an unbelievably high-pitched shriek that made everyone in front of Dean hit the floor and cover their ears. The only window in the room exploded in a shower of sharp glass.

Dean would have covered his ears if it had been possible, but instead he endured the noise that was rising in pitch, drawing blood from his eardrums. He looked around wildly as the room filled with light and heat, the whole house rocking and shuddering under its force. He thought maybe a plane was about to crash into them, or maybe there was a nuclear bomb that he had missed on the news, but, just as suddenly as it began, the noise and light disappeared to reveal a figure stood right before him.

It was like a punch to the gut and the biggest wave of relief ever as Dean spotted the familiar man in the old tan coat staring at him. The house was silent again other than the pained groans from the three bodies on the floor, and Castiel was stood right in front of Dean. "Huh, 'bout time," Dean choked through the copious amounts of blood in his mouth. He tilted his head to one side and spat out the worst of it as Castiel flat out ignored him and leaned down to haul Meg up from the floor.

He dragged her close by hear jacket and even through the shadows Dean could see the murderous look on his face. "You move on, and if I have to deal with you again, I will not let you survive," Castiel hissed under his breath. "If I see you near the Winchesters again, I will destroy you." Meg stared at him, dumbfounded, for a long moment before nodding her head quickly.

Castiel let her drop to the floor again and spared her one, last, disgusted look before turning back to Dean. "You should be more careful," he grumbled with a glare before helping Dean down from the rafters.

"Yeah, I'll bear that in mind next time," he tried to snap, but it was weak considering most of his ribs appeared to be broken.

"I don't even know how you're still alive," Castiel sighed as he set Dean down on the floor carefully, supporting his shoulders with one, strong hand.

"Just good luck," Dean said dryly, glad his arms were still in one piece so he could support himself.

Castiel knelt before him and inspected the damage before pressing a hand to the centre of Dean's chest. He felt the familiar warmth start to spread through him, stitching his bones back together and returning his organs to their natural state. His breath started to come easier, his ribs expanding naturally instead of grinding together, and he was finally relatively free of pain.

The headache remained and Castiel seemed to make no effort to heal it as he sat back and looked Dean up and down. "I'll take you home," he said quietly. "And then no more trouble." Dean lifted a hand to catch Castiel's wrist as he reached out to him, halting his movement. The angel frowned at him but did not withdraw.

"Home's a different place now, and I need to get back to Sam," Dean said quietly.

"I know," Castiel bit back, almost with a roll of his eyes, before he reached forward again, but Dean stopped him quickly.

"And the Impala, I'm not just leaving her here," he insisted, tightening his grip on Castiel's wrist. The angel let out an exasperated sigh and looked around the room. The dealers were watching them and that seemed to unnerve him.

"Fine," he murmured before moving forward with the rest of his body.

Castiel easily hauled Dean up from the floor and hooked an arm around his waist, one of Dean's arms around his shoulder. "Just move," he ordered gently, and Dean obeyed as they made their way forward out of the room. The angel helped Dean down the flights of stairs, scaring off anyone who dared to come near them with a look that could kill, and out into the cold night air. Dawn was starting to tease at the horizon, the sun painting shades of pink and gold into the sky, and Dean realised then just how long he had been unconscious.

"I don't really think you're safe to drive," Castiel said as they reached the car. Dean was still shirtless, his jeans stained in blood, but he ignored the winter air clinging to his skin.

"Oh, well are you gonna drive?" He raised an eyebrow at the angel who only scowled back at him. "Yeah, thought so."

"Dean, please, just let me take you home. I'll bring you back for your car tomorrow." Dean was about to protest loudly but he suddenly lost his balance and staggered dangerously against the side of the Impala. Castiel was quickly at his side, supporting him easily. "That's it," he breathed before the world span violently around them.

Dean collapsed almost immediately when the world stopped spinning. He fell onto something soft with a little guidance from Castiel and he cursed loudly as he stared up at the ceiling of the guest room at Bobby's house. "Dammit, Cas!"

"Speak ill of me all you want, you need to rest," Castiel said calmly, starting to back away from the bed.

"Oh no you don't," Dean growled, reaching out quickly to grab the first thing he could reach, which just happened to be Castiel's hand (or rather the tips of his fingers). The angel stalled, swallowing hard before slowly bringing his gaze to meet Dean's. "You are _not_ doing the disappearing act on me again, you hear me?"

Castiel stared at him long and hard, the words seeming to around and around in his head. He eventually let out a long sigh and looked around the room. "I can't stay, Dean," he said quietly.

"Why? Why can't you stay? All those years ago you wanted nothing more than to just sit and do nothing, and now you can't even give me the time of day?" Dean tightened his grip on Castiel's fingers and tugged him a little closer. "You're not running away again. I haven't been praying all these years just for you to fly out again." Castiel closed his eyes and swallowed hard before nodding.

"Okay."

"Okay what? You'll stay?" The angel nodded slowly.

"For tonight, just to make sure you're okay." Dean did not miss the defeated look on the angel's face or the way his shoulders sagged. He was about to open his mouth and badger Castiel for answers when the door suddenly opened and light flooded in.

Bobby was in the doorway, hand on the door handle, and he came to a sudden halt as he saw Dean laid out on the bed with numerous bruises still visible, his jeans stained in blood, and his fingers gripping the angel's hand so tight his knuckles were going white. "Hope I'm not disturbing anything but... how the Hell did you get up here without me knowin'?" Bobby said gruffly, averting his eyes to Dean's face and firmly keeping them there.

Dean sighed and let his head fall back on the pillows, finally letting go of Castiel's hand. "I'll tell you tomorrow. Is Sammy okay?"

"He stopped screamin' 'bout an hour ago," the older man said with a shrug. "If that's your definition of okay." Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard, covering his face with his arm. He had known it would be difficult, that's all he had expected.

"Thanks, Bobby," he said hoarsely. He peered under his arm to see the man nod and start to retreat.

"Get some rest, you look like Hell," he said quietly before shutting the door and leaving them in darkness again.

"No runnin', Cas," Dean murmured as he curled up on the bed slowly, the echo of the pain from the drug house tugging at his body.

"I know. I'll stay," Castiel said quietly from somewhere nearby. There was the soft creak of the chair beside the bed and Dean smiled to himself before burying his face in the pillow and letting the exhaustion consume him. He would face the world and it's consequences in the morning, but for now consciousness could go screw itself.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Hey, look! I finished this two days ago so it actually got beta read! Woo!**

**Also it's my birthday so this is a present to you all :D**

**Have a happy chapter!**

**Thank you to the lovely destielengineering and geekdean for beta reading :)**

* * *

_**Chapter Ten**_

Dean woke several hours later with a fuzzy head and a dull ache all over his body. His mind was blissfully clear as he rolled over and stretched out, muscles popping and stretching. It was only when he blearily opened his eyes and turned his head to one side that it all came flooding back to him at the sight of the angel reclining in the chair, watching him steadily. The drug house and the agony he went through flew through his mind, filling it up quickly and making him groan before he buried his head in the pillow again.

It registered at the back of his head that he was under the blankets when he had fallen asleep on top of them, and that surely meant the angel had played some part in making him more comfortable, but he ignored it in favour of squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out the world. "I know you're awake," Castiel said quietly from the chair.

Dean let out a heavy sigh before slowly turning his head to look at the angel. He had his elbow propped on the nearby dresser, cheek against his palm. He looked fed up, but not particularly tired. "Doesn't mean I want to be awake," Dean grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before slowly pushing himself up.

His head swam as he sat, sleep fogged and still remembering the pain of the previous night. "You need to see your brother," Castiel muttered as he stood from the chair. Suddenly reality hit Dean and he was quickly throwing back the covers and clambering out of bed. The angel was right, Sam was probably still down in the panic room.

"Turn around," Dean said quickly as he fished a clean pair of jeans out of the duffel bag he left at Bobby's in case of emergency.

"Why?" Castiel frowned but started to turn nonetheless.

"Because... it's weird. Dudes don't watch each other change," he muttered as he took off the remainder of his clothes and replaced them with clean underwear, jeans, socks and a t-shirt.

"I'm not a... 'dude'." Dean paused halfway through pulling his shirt on and frowned.

"Look like a dude to me," he murmured before pulling the hem down all the way.

"As humans say, looks can be deceiving," Castiel answered as they moved towards the door.

"So what are you, then?" Dean took the lead, heading out onto the landing and towards the stairs. It was late in the afternoon and the house was quiet, but Dean could smell coffee wafting up from downstairs and the faint smell of dinner cooking.

"I'm... nothing, really." Dean glanced to the angel and raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing? So... what... there's _nothing_ down there?" They stopped at the top of the stairs and Castiel frowned deeply, possibly the most confused Dean had ever seen him.

"I... what?"

"Like... down there... do you have... any... junk?" That only succeeded in giving the angel a blank expression, and Dean would have laughed if he did not feel like he was seriously offending Castiel. "Do you have a penis?" he said quickly, and Castiel replaced the blank look with an exasperated one.

"Your brother is sick and you're asking me about my genitals? Really?" Dean shrugged and shifted from foot to foot.

"Yeah... I guess... just curious," he murmured.

"I preferred you as a ten year old," Castiel growled, but a small smile tugged at his lips before he turned and started down the stairs. "And my genitals are perfectly male, and perfectly functional, before you ask."

Dean did not push any further, following the angel down into the house and through into the lounge where Bobby was sat at his desk reading the daily paper. "Rise and shine," Bobby murmured without even looking up. "Glad to see you joined the land of the living again."

"It was a push. How's Sammy?" He rubbed a hand through his hair and went into the kitchen to hunt down the coffee smell and drown himself in it. Castiel lingered behind in Bobby's lounge.

"He wants to see you, and he needs something to eat, so make yourself useful," Bobby grumbled. Dean rolled his eyes and poured himself a coffee before rummaging for something to make food with. There was a meat pie in the oven and Dean threw a glance over his shoulder at the older man. Bobby narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Make your own," he snapped before returning his attention to his newspaper.

Castiel made his way through into the kitchen, looking around at the house as he went. Bobby's place was not much, just a small house out of town, in the middle of nowhere. It was just perfect for someone who was paranoid like Bobby. It creaked in the night and it groaned during the day, and outside it was a mess of scrapped cars and grey stones and dirt. It may not have seemed special to many, but for Dean it was the best retreat he could imagine.

The walls in the lounge were lined with books and the kitchen left a lot to be desired, but Dean liked it, and he knew his way around it. He smiled briefly at the angel that was lingering near the door and then went about making some sandwiches. He guessed Sam would be hungry, but maybe not capable of stomaching much. He kept Sam's sandwich light when it came to fillings and then picked up the two plates and hesitated, sliding his gaze over to Castiel "Did you want something to eat?"

The angel stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. "I don't eat," he said quietly before moving past Dean to pick up his coffee. "Go, I'll bring this for you." Dean frowned momentarily before making his way towards the stairs that led to the basement. Castiel followed behind, carrying the full mug of coffee with perfect balance.

When Dean opened the door to the panic room, Sam was sat cross-legged on the rickety bed to one side. He had taken off his shirt at some point, showing the way his ribs pushed against his skin and his collarbones were more prominent than they should have been, and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. "I'm hot and cold all at once," he said weakly as Dean took in his appearance.

Sam's hazy gaze moved from Dean to lock onto Castiel, a deep frown coming onto his face. "Who's that? Did you bring a doctor? Dean, I don't need a doctor. I'm fine, look, totally fine," he said quickly as he held his arms out to either side. Dean clenched his jaw as he saw the dark bruises on his brother's arms and the pin-prick marks where the needles had gone in. He put Sam's plate down on the bed next to him and then looked to where Castiel was leaning against the door with the mug in hand, gazing up at the pentagram in the ceiling.

"No, he's not a doctor," Dean said quietly, sitting down next to his brother. Sam visibly relaxed, taking up his sandwich and inspecting the contents before he took a bite. "This is Castiel. He came back," Dean murmured. Sam choked briefly on his sandwich and then rolled his eyes, looking from Castiel to Dean.

"Dude, you're thirty and you're still going on with that crap? You weren't visited by a fucking angel, and now you're picking up loons on the street." Dean closed his eyes and steadied his breathing before locking his gaze on Castiel and keeping it there. The angel turned his look from Sam to lock eyes with Dean, a slightly startled look on his face.

"You told your brother? Why?"

"You vanished! And I wanted to tell him that... what mom always used to say... was true," Dean trailed off and then looked down at his sandwich. There was an indignant snort beside him.

"Wow, you really found a crazy one there. Actually thinks he's an angel," Sam mumbled.

Castiel cleared his throat and that had them both looking up at him, sandwiches in hand. "I'm not... crazy," he said quietly, almost dangerously. "And you would do well to listen to your brother." Everything fell silent for a moment before a grin spread onto Sam's face and he let out a bark of laughter.

"He's mad!"

Dean did not have time to stop Castiel from flicking his wrist, a subtle motion that sent Sam flying backwards against the wall, head smacking against the iron cladding. "What the-" Sam groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Castiel raised an eyebrow and rolled his shoulders, and Dean just knew he was puffing up his wings. Sam was staring wide-eyed at Castiel, fingers clutching the back of his head where it had hit the wall.

"I'm an angel, Dean's telling the truth," Castiel said quietly, eyeing up the coffee in his hand. He lifted it and took a quick sniff before taking a few sips of it.

"Hey!" Dean called out. "That was mine!"

"You can finish it off," Castiel muttered before he took a few more sips.

"Dude, no, you've had your mouth on it." Castiel raised an eyebrow yet again at Dean.

"And?"

"Dudes don't share spit!"

"Dean, I'm not a-"

"Yeah, not a dude, but still," Dean grumbled as he went back to his sandwich. Sam was silent beside him, stock still and staring at Castiel.

"How... how does he-" Sam started to say, but Dean laughed and cut him off.

"Don't start asking questions, it'll drive you mad, and so will he." He threw a pointed look at Castiel who ignored him and took another drink of the coffee. He turned his gaze back up to the pentagram on the ceiling.

"How does Mr. Singer know about that?" he asked quietly. Dean followed his gaze and stared at the star-shaped fixture for a moment before shrugging.

"He's paranoid. Got a shit load of books on that sort of stuff. Not sure if he's crazy or right to be scared from what I read," Dean muttered.

Some of the books were downright terrifying. He had read about monsters such as wendigos and shtriga, djinn and leviathans, and each was more terrifying than the last. Dean had to say, if any of them were real then the world was a much more scary place than he first thought. "Not long ago he would have been right to be scared," Castiel mused gently. "Now there's nothing, not really. Maybe a werewolf or a vampire, but certainly no demons." He drew his gaze away from the pentagram. "It's designed to trap demons, keep them in place to be exorcised or questioned. It's very effective, but demons are locked away now," he explained, running his hand up the iron door frame. "Iron is the perfect defence against ghosts and some other creatures. This room is probably the safest place in the country," he finished before looking at Dean.

Dean had always feared that Bobby was right, but here was an angel telling him that, yes, it was all true. "So ghosts are real?"

"Of course," Castiel said with a shrug.

"And... vampires? What like Twilight?" The angel snorted and shook his head, the first real smile Dean had seen in a long time creeping onto his face.

"She tried to sell her soul but all the demons are locked away. She wrote it anyway. It's an abomination and vampires aren't like that." Dean laughed and Sam actually joined in too.

"She seriously tried to sell her soul? For what?" Sam chuckled.

"Better writing skills. Pretty clear that didn't work," Castiel muttered. Dean tilted his head and balanced his plate on his knee as he rocked back and pushed his hands into the bed, leaning back on them.

"How do you know all that? Where have you been all these years?" Dean asked quietly. Castiel looked at him and his expression quickly fell again, blue eyes going carefully blank.

"I had work to do. Stopping some moron from reopening Hell was a big task," he said before he straightened up. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." With that, he fluttered away into thin air.

Sam and Dean sat in silence, staring at the empty space Castiel had left behind. "So you were telling the truth," Sam said quietly. "And you really found him in the shed?" He looked to Dean and Dean nodded, leaving part of his sandwich uneaten.

"Yeah, looked like a tramp," he sighed as he slid down from the bed. "You gonna come upstairs?" Sam nodded and finished off his sandwich quickly before standing up. "Put a shirt on first." His younger brother stalled for a moment before he searched around, looking for his shirt. He located it on the floor behind the bed and swiftly pulled it down over his head.

The two brothers took their plates upstairs to find Castiel poring through Bobby's books, the older man muttering something about each one as the angel thumbed through the pages. "This one's wrong," he said quietly. "Vampires are killed by chopping off the head, the old garlic story is ridiculous." Bobby nodded and took the book from the angel.

"Yeah, I thought so," he said gruffly. "Would explain the lack of vampires in Italy, though." Castiel grinned and that and nodded as he looked through another book. Sam took Dean's plate from him as the older brother stopped by the kitchen entrance to watch the angel.

He remembered when he had first seen Castiel, all beaten up and devoid of life. He remembered the sharp responses and his downright disgusting behaviour. Most of all, Dean remembered the dreams. He would never forget how he used to run through the forest chasing the tail of that coat, catching the odd flash of mischievous blue over a disappearing shoulder.

His dreams had been quiet for a long time. They were memories of a distant time, and not the true feeling of another being in his head. Castiel had been gone for so long, the foggy memory of his dream-smile had been distorted in Dean's mind. It all came rushing back to him now, however, and he was reminded how Castiel's smile was like the sun, brightening up even the darkest places.

Not bad for an angel who ended up in a garden shed. Dean jumped slightly as Sam came back up beside him, catching him staring openly at the angel. "I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Shoulda known you'd never lie to me." He gave Dean an apologetic smile, and Dean returned it with his own, reassuring one.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. Someone tells you an angel appeared in the shed and you do kinda call them crazy," he chuckled. Sam huffed a laugh and hung his head.

"Yeah, that's true. But Anna did back you up."

"She was never really all there, though," Dean sighed, leaning a little heavier against the frame of the partition. "Lovely girl but... I do think her mom got to her." Anna had been a good friend to Dean. Even after Castiel had vanished, they had remained friends, hanging out in the woods and on the jetty.

She had been all for nature, often talking about birds and insects. Dean knew the names of most of the native birds because of her. As usual, the relationship ruined the friendship. Maybe it had all been doomed from that first, experimental kiss on the jetty. Some days Dean regretted losing that friendship, and then others he realised that it was nothing compared to the rest of the grief in his life. "You good now, Sammy?" he asked quietly. He knew it was not an overnight thing, and Sam knew he knew that.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I'm good. Gonna take time, though. First clear head I've had in... months." He raked a hand through his long hair, which Dean was sure he had not cut in years, and managed a smile. "Think we can get back on our feet again?"

Dean smiled as Castiel found the angel book with its well worn pages and accompanying doodles from Dean. The angel looked up just long enough for his eyes to meet Dean's, flashing one of his quick smiles before he turned his attention back to Bobby. For some reason, Dean felt safe again. "Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah I think we can do it."

* * *

"No, I'm just saying we need a new place," Sam sighed as Dean pulled on his overalls.

"We can't _afford_ a new place, Sammy," Dean growled out as he turned to face his brother. "You need to get a job, and _then_ we need a new place." The brothers stared at each other for a minute before Sam's shoulders sagged and he nodded.

"Alright, sure," he said quietly.

"Yeah, you can put that degree to good use. I didn't essentially sell my soul for nothing," Dean muttered before looking towards the angel stood in the corner. "You gonna be here when I get back or do I have to drag your ass with me?"

Castiel looked up from the book he was reading about misconceptions in the Bible and gave Dean a nod. "I'll be here, if that's what you want." Dean shifted for a moment from foot to foot, looking from Castiel to Sam and then back again.

"Keep an eye on him," he finally said before turning on his heel and heading out of the house. Bobby was giving him a lift to pick up the Impala before they headed to the garage. It hurt Dean to leave her out there on her own so long, and he could only hope that no thugs had gotten their hands on her.

They were both silent on the drive into the shadier part of town, Bobby reclined back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, as his beat-up Mustang ate up the tarmac. It was a good ten minutes before the older man spoke. "So, is he your latest conquest?" he asked sharply. Dean was used to Bobby's lack of bush beating and shook his head slowly.

"No, not at all," he replied quietly. Bobby nodded and fiddled with the radio a minute to shut off the horrible sound of modern pop and settle on something a little older and a little more country.

"Then why is he loiterin' in my house? And doesn't he have a change of clothes?" Castiel had spent the night on the chair in Dean's room again last night, and was still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing all the time Dean had known him.

"If I told you, then you'd believe me, and we'd have a problem," Dean said quietly as they turned down the street where the Impala was parked.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Bobby said as he pulled the Mustang up on the side of the street and turned a little in his seat to face Dean. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes a little.

"That means he's everything that'll set your paranoia off and you're better off just leaving him be."

"You mean he's another paranoid freak? He seems to know more than me about that supernatural stuff." Dean shook his head slowly.

"He's uh... not a paranoid freak. He'll be out of your hair tonight, honest. We'll go back to the apartment. Bobby snorted as Dean pushed his door open and went to climb out.

"You need a new place," he said, and Dean bent down to poke his back back through the door.

"Yeah, you're not the first one to say that today. And I repeat, we need money first." Dean flashed a half smile before shutting the door and heading towards the Impala, missing the thoughtful look on the older man's face.

The old Impala was in good condition and Dean settled her behind Bobby's car and followed it towards the garage. There were customers waiting as soon as they arrived and Dean was soon able to bury himself in his work. It was a Friday and the garage was closed on weekends, so he still had the next two days off despite taking some holiday time. He was glad, but also dreading the time to sit and think. He would have to look at his brother and the way his body was too thin for the next two days with no escape.

Dean's second client of the day was a short, quirky man by the name of Gabriel. He was driving an old, obnoxiously red 1965 Buick Wildcat and Dean eyed it sceptically before driving it onto his ramps. It only just fit in the garage, which Dean was glad of, but it also had a mysterious knocking that became more mysterious the more you listened for it, which Dean was certainly not glad of. "I tell you, I'm not imagining it," Gabriel sighed as Dean finished his fifth check over of the car and came up with nothing.

"I'm sure you're not, but I can't find anything," Dean muttered, turning to find Gabriel stood just two feet away with a red lollipop in his mouth. He bit back any comment he would like to make about age and instead smiled at his customer. "We could take it for a drive, if you want, see if the noise comes on?"

Gabriel pondered it for a moment before nodding and pulling out his keys. "Sure, here," he said as he tossed them to Dean. They lowered the Wildcat back down to the ground and got it off the ramps before heading out onto the street. The Buick was not as nice as the Impala, but Dean had been in worse. "So how long have you been a mechanic?" Dean glanced across at the man, caught off guard by the question as they sat at a red light.

"Uh... fourteen years," he answered, managing a polite smile. Gabriel let out a low whistle and licked the lollipop once before looking at Dean again.

"That's a long time, I mean... what are you... thirty-three?"

"Thirty," Dean corrected quietly.

"Huh, you _and _handsome, nice," Gabriel mused as they set off again. Dean ignored the remark and kept driving.

It was all silent until they hit about forty, and then there was a subtle knocking in the engine. "Huh," Dean muttered, rocking forward to listen a little closer. "Sounds like a trim or something, must have just missed it." Gabriel hummed and reclined back in his seat.

"It happens. At least I wasn't imagining it," he said with a shrug. "So, fine man like you, got a girl?" Dean laughed as he took a turning to get them heading back towards the garage.

"No," he said with a shake of the head. "Not for a long time, sir."

"Gabriel, please, or Gabe. Boyfriend?" Dean felt his ears heat up and shook his heat mutely. "But open to the idea," Gabriel finished off his silent remark for him and leaned against the car door. "Fascinating."

"Dude, bisexual's a thing," Dean murmured.

"Of course it is, but you don't look the type." Dean glanced across at the other man and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"What's the uh... the type?" Gabriel shrugged again and motioned down at himself.

"Most of the ones I know are loud and obnoxious or they over-compensate or something," he explained before popping the candy back into his mouth.

"Well, I guess some people just aren't loud about it," Dean said politely as they turned down the street for the garage again.

"Yeah, true, that," Gabriel murmured, watching Dean curiously.

"Just so you're aware, I don't do dating," Dean said through a tight jaw. "Haven't done for a long time."

"Of course," he replied, taking the candy out of his mouth in order to speak.

"I'm not interested in anyone at the minute."

"Obviously."

"I just... wanna get on with my life," he sighed. Gabriel hummed in agreement and rocked forwards a little bit.

"See, I was just asking because you have a lot of tension around your shoulders there, might wanna get that taken away. I would offer but you're really not my type. Too... small..." He gestured vaguely and Dean opened his mouth to protest. "Not like that. Height wise, dingbat." Dean closed his mouth again and nodded.

"Of course," he said quietly.

Dean was glad when the garage came into view. He let Gabriel out before popping the hood and taking a look inside. A trim in the middle of the engine was loose and he soon fastened it back into place. He had to say, he might have been slightly glad to see the back of that car and its obnoxious owner. He wiped his hands clean on the rag attached to his belt and went to find Bobby. "Next!" he called to the old man who was under the hood of a beat up Capri.

"The Ram," Bobby called back.

The owner of the big, black Dodge was rude and silent, but at least he was not obnoxious.

* * *

That night, they moved back from Bobby's and to their own apartment. Dean crinkled his nose at the damp, grimy place and tried to ignore it as best as possible as he dropped his bag of dirty clothes down and flicked the lights on. Castiel was stood at his shoulder, taking it all in. "This is where you live?" he asked quietly as Sam moved past them and immediately cleaned up the plates that had been left out a few days ago.

"Yeah," Dean sighed as he took in the battered sofa, the old TV, the worn carpet and the slightly peeling wall paper. It was slightly better than a ratty motel room, but only by a bit. "Home sweet home."

As Sam headed for a shower and to get some clean clothes at last, Dean flopped down on the sofa. Castiel followed, if a little more elegantly, and looked around him. "I preferred your old house," he muttered.

"Don't we all," Dean grumbled as he flicked on the TV and searched for something decent. "You know, you should probably relax a bit, maybe wear some different clothes." He glanced towards the angel at his side to see that Castiel was staring blankly at him again. "People will think you're a tramp if you wear the same clothes all the time and I'm not having you sitting around the house like there's a rod stuck up your ass," he explained as he settled on a documentary channel.

Castiel seemed to ponder his words for a long time before he finally replied. "I don't have any other clothes," he said quietly as he slumped back on the sofa, legs stretching out in front of him. Dean knew he knew how to slouch, he had done it for weeks in a garden shed. Dean shrugged gently as he gave Castiel the once over.

"You'll probably fit in my clothes 'til we can afford some for you," he muttered. They fell into silence after that as the documentary about Australia played in front of them. It was a comfortable silence like Dean had not felt in years, and he basked in it as he grew more and more drowsy on the sofa, slumping lower and lower.

Dean woke bleary eyed and foggy to find he was being carried. He groped blindly for something to hold onto, burying his fingers in the back of the angel's coat as he yawned and curled up closer. He was vaguely aware of the huff of laughter above him and the kind, blue eyes looking down at him, but he was sleepy and his brain did not want to function. He felt the soft bed below him and buried himself in it, clinging to the duvet as it was pulled over him and pushing his face into the pillow. He was not aware of anything until the next morning.


End file.
